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THE    LONE    SCOUT 


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730  1 


THE  LONE  SCOUT 


A  TALE  OP  THE 

UNITED  STATES  PUBLIC 

HEALTH  SERVICE 

BY 

EDWARD  CHAMPE  CARTER 


WITH   A  FOREWORD  BY 

WILLIAM  C.  GORGAS 

Surgeon-  General,  U.  S.  A. 
{Retired) 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 

BOSTON 


/c 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
The  Cornhill  Company 


To 

'Wardy  Scout'' 


DEDICATION 

Where  laughter,  gems,  and  passions  melt, 
'Tis  whispered  in  each  white  salon 

That,  once-upon-a-time,  there  dwelt 
A  prisoner  at  Chalon. 

And  then,  though  say  it  'neath  your  breath, 
(Tiny  Marquise,  thy  tears  fall  fast; 

Such  gentle  tears!)     There  dwelt  till  death 
A  man  in  iron  mask. 

Far  out  the  river  glides  away, 

From  further  shore  the  children  call; 

And  now,  in  glorious  peace,  the  day 
Kisses  my  city  wall. 

Strange,  that  within  my  buttress'd  town, 
Watching  the  sun's  shaft  pierce  the  gloom 

My  heart  can  still  with  peace  abound — 
Because  my  roses  bloom ! 

Ah,  take  this  book,  dear  Golden  Head ; 

Fair  boys,  and  brown  boys,  read  a  while; 
Just  care  for  it — my  rose  is  dead 

Unless  you  smile. 

[V] 


vi  DEDICATION 

Some  gentle  heart  grieved  o'er  Chalon. 

Some  pity  soothed  poor  Iron  Mask. 
Some  star-eyed  child  of  Avignon 

Smiled  up  and  laughed. 

Read  with  me,  laugh  with  me,  use  these  toys 
In  black  and  white.     My  smallest  arts 

And  but  to  gladden  brown-cheeked  boys ; 
Fun  for  young  eyes,  young  hearts. 

Officers,  Boy  Scouts,  Sailor  men, 

Pass  o*er  the  screen,  work  to  resume. 

Good-bye!     Good-night!    Thank  God  that  when 
Boys  laugh,  my  roses  bloom  I 


FOREWORD 


npHE  control  of  malaria  is  a  matter  of  the  highest 
■'■  importance  in  the  United  States,  as  it  is  every- 
where that  this  disease  prevails.  The  method  of 
election  is  the  prevention  of  the  production  of 
Anopheles  mosquitoes  by  destroying  their  breeding 
places.  Every  agency  that  can  help  to  that  end 
should  be  so  utilized. 

It  is  to  the  credit  of  Mr.  Carter  that  he  has 
originated  the  idea  of  thus  using  the  Boy  Scouts. 
In  this  book  Mr.  Carter  develops  the  idea  of  using 
this  organization  in  a  campaign  for  the  control  of 
malaria  by  preventing  the  breeding  of  Anopheles 
mosquitoes. 

Considering  how  efficient  this  organization  has 
been  in  other  work,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe 
it  would  be  efficient  in  this  also. 

W.  C.  GORGAS 

Major-General  U.  S.  Army  (Ret) 


[vii] 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 
I. 
II. 
III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 


XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 


Page 

"Cookie" i 

Where  Nothing  Ever  Happens     .     .  lo 

The  Highwayman 20 

The  "Chief"  and  His  "Boys"  ...  34 

"Buster" 49 

The  Folly  Quarters 56 

Which  is  all  About  Work      ...  70 

The  Lone  Scout 83 

Two  Young  Cub  (b)s 96 

Concert  Pitch 108 

Containing  a  Brief  Constructive  In- 
terview,   OF    Official    Character, 

WITH  Scout  Master  Pepper  Sloan  133 

First  Aid 141 

The  Red  Cross  Man 153 

The  Boy  Scouts  of  "Ours"  ....  164 

Law  and  Order 180 

The  Chief's  Panacea 196 

Field  Work 201 

Pierrot        211 

A  Boy  Scout  and  a  Copper  Moon  .      .  220 

The  Call 231 

[ix] 


THE    LONE    SCOUT 


CHAPTER  I. 

"But  all  we  ask,  if  that  befall, 

Is  this.     Within  your  hearts  be  writ 

This  single-line  memorial : — 

He  did  his  duty — and  his  hit!" 

IAN   HAY, 


"Wide  awake,  watchful,  full  of  fun — 
I've  had  my  knocks.     I've  had  my  joys. 

In  fact  I'm  like  the  general  run, 
Of  Service  boys." 
From  ''the  saga  of  an  unsung  service.'' 

"COOKIE" 

He  had  been  christened  William  Prender- 
gast  Hoover,  but  his  real  name,  as  any  of  his 
brothers  in  the  Bulldog  Patrol  could  have  told 
you,  was  Billy;  First  Class  Scout  Billy  Hoover, 
of  Troop  Number  Two,  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  with  the  two  green  bars  of  a  patrol 
leader  on  his  left  sleeve,  together  with  six 
Merit  Badges,  namely — the  small  figure  of  a 
swimmer,  for  swimming,  with  breast,  crawl 
and  side  strokes,  on  the  back  as  well  as  on  the 
stomach;  clenched  fist,  for  physical  develop- 
ment; a  tiny  red  heart,  for  personal  health;  an 


2  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ancient  lyre,  for  music;  a  "bull's  eye"  target, 
for  marksmanship,  and  a  fat  little  kettle,  for 
cooking. 

Now  the  dream  of  Billy  Hoover's  life  was  to 
win  the  badge  of  a  Life  Scout — a  heart  shaped 
affair  with  the  insignia  of  a  First  Class  Scout 
in  the  center,  a  fleur-de-lis,  with  the  United 
States  coat-of-arms  on  it,  and  with  the  world- 
famous  motto  "Be  Prepared"  on  the  scroll  be- 
neath it.  It  requires  only  five  Merit  Badges 
to  attain  this  dizzy  height,  but,  unfortunately 
for  Master  Billy,  the  badges  must  be  for  cer- 
tain especial  things,  and  Music  and  Cooking 
are  not  among  them,  while  Public  Health,  and 
First  Aid,  and  Life  Saving,  or  Pioneering,  are. 
Billy  felt  quite  sure  that  he  could  qualify  in 
Life  Saving,  if  only  some  other  boy  would  be 
obliging  enough  to  fall  into  Charleston  Bay 
and  try  to  drown,  but  the  torch  badge  for  Pub- 
lic Health  and  the  red  cross  for  First  Aid,  filled 
his  youthful  soul  with  despair.  Regularly  he 
came  up  before  his  local  scout  council  to  try 
for  these  branches,  and  regularly  he  failed,  for 
one  of  the  members  was  on  the  State  Board  of 
Health  for  South  Carolina,  and  by  the  end  of 
the  very  first  question  he  had  poor  Billy  in  a 
state  of  sulky  mystification,  in  the  vain  at- 
tempt to  tell  him  the  "chief  causes  and  modes 
of  transmission  of  the  following  diseases: 
tuberculosis,  typhoid  and  malaria."  It  was 
the  last  mentioned  of  this  trio,  malaria,  that 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  3 

was  the  casus  belli,  for  the  doctor  was  an  en- 
thusiast on  malaria  transmission,  and  required 
a  far  greater  knowledge  of  the  subject  than 
was  ever  dreamt  of  in  the  Official  Hand  Book. 

As  to  First  Aid,  it  was  always  a  failure  from 
start  to  finish,  for  Billy  was  as  sound  of  body 
as  a  young  elephant,  and  sick  people  in  general, 
but  sick  boys  in  particular,  worried  him 
mightily. 

He  was  one  of  six  children,  three  girls  and 
three  boys,  and  he  was  next  to  the  youngest, 
being  just  fourteen  years  old.  All  the  others 
were  thin  and  dark  and  rather  frail,  all  pre- 
senting the  most  beautiful  clinical  picture  of 
malaria  had  the  scout  had  the  wisdom  to  study 
them,  but  Billy  himself  was  well  grown  for  his 
age,  w^ith  a  tall,  solid  young  body  that  would 
have  been  too  plump  but  for  the  fact  that  it  was 
very  muscular  and  as  hard  as  nails.  He  had 
one  of  the  most  engaging  faces  imaginable,  the 
skin  as  pink  and  white  as  a  girl's,  under  a  thick 
mop  of  crisp,  yellow  hair  that  was  inclined  to 
stand  up  on  his  head,  straight  from  his 
"widow's  peak",  and  to  curl  a  little,  too.  In 
his  round  face  were  set  a  pair  of  large,  dove- 
like eyes,  darkly  violet  and  possessed  of  a  gen- 
tly smiling,  pleading  expression  under  their 
thick  lashes,  many  shades  darker  than  his 
golden  head,  an  expression  that  utterly  belied 
the  mischevious  character  of  their  owner.  He 
never  tanned  to  amount  to  any  thing,  and  the 


4  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ivory  whiteness  of  his  smooth  body  filled  his 
heart  with  disgust. 

Just  now  he  was  in  no  very  good  humor,  for 
all  the  Spring  he  had  been  caddying  at  the 
Charleston  Country  Club,  and  selling  papers 
after  school,  yes,  and  even  singing'  as  alto  in 
the  cathedral  choir,  so  that  he  could  save  up 
his  money  and  go  on  the  ''big  hike" — a  trip  to 
the  Virginia  Blue  Ridge,  in  June.  Now,  with 
June  almost  gone,  he  was  still  in  his  own  state, 
only  a  few  hours  railroad  journey  from  home, 
with  the  rest  of  the  Bulldogs,  especially  his 
chum.  Tod  West,  joyously  camped  somewhere 
among  the  distant  mountains,  himself  the  lone 
scout  of  the  patrol,  and  a  pretty  sulky  scout  at 
that! 

The  trouble  was  that  Billy's  big  brother  had 
at  once  gone  into  the  Navy  at  the  declaration  of 
war  with  Germany,  and,  with  a  fearfully  inop- 
portune choice  of  time,  his  small  brother, 
Teddy,  had  developed  peritonitis,  and  was 
even  now  in  a  hospital  in  Charleston,  w^hile  the 
forty-five  dollars  that  represented  the  entire 
amount  of  Billy's  savings  up  to  date  reposed  in 
the  pocket  of  the  surgeon,  who  had  performed 
laparotomy,  along  with  a  hundred  or  so  of 
similar  dollars,  earned  with  the  sweet  tem- 
pered patience  that  was  a  part  of  Billy's 
widowed  mother's  share  in  life. 

She  had  never  asked  the  boy  for  a  cent  of  his 
savings,  but  she  did  tell  him  the  heavy  ex- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  5 

pense  that  Teddy's  illness  had  caused  her,  and 
so  Billy,  with  all  the  deep  love  that  he  felt  for 
her  shining  in  his  dark  eyes,  had  simply  laid 
his  little  roll  of  bills  in  her  lap  and  then,  after 
she  had  kissed  him,  he  had  gone  out  into  the 
back  yard  and  cried,  big,  husky  fellow  of  four- 
teen though  he  was. 

Mrs.  Hoover  had  been  a  Charleston  Pren- 
dergast  before  she  was  married  (and  none  of 
you  boys,  unless  you  have  lived  in  that  south- 
ern city,  can  quite  know  what  a  fearsome  thing 
it  is  to  be  "a  Charleston  anything''!)  but  her 
mother  had  been  a  Boston  woman,  named 
Mary  HoUis.  One  of  her  second  cousins, 
Francis  Hollis,  was  a  sanitary  engineer  in  the 
U.  S.  Public  Health  Service  (formerly  the 
Marine  Hospital  Service)  and,  on  hearing  of 
the  plight  into  which  his  relatives  had  fallen, 
he  came  down  from  Washington  and  gave 
them  all  the  help  they  would  accept,  little 
enough  unfortunately,  for  such  is  the  way  with 
"a  Charleston  Prendergast." 

"You  know,  Frank,"  Mrs.  Hoover  said,  af- 
ter she  had  told  her  cousin  of  Bill's  generosity, 
"it  is  terribly  hard  on  the  child,  being  here  in 
Charleston,  and  all  his  boy  friends  away.  If 
only  the  choir  work  continued  in  the  summer 
it  would  be  some  help,  but  the  cathedral  dis- 
bands its  choristers  the  first  wxek  in  June.  I 
wish  I  could  send  him  into  the  country,  but, 


6  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

frankly,  Frank,  I  need  every  penny  the  little 
chap  makes." 

"Now  look  here,  Mary,"  Frank  HoUis  said 
suddenly,  "I'll  do  what  I  can  for  that  boy.  He 
deserves  it.  The  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  get 
him  some  work.  He  will  be  moping  around 
here  all  summer  if  I  don't.  The  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral has  planned  to  establish  a  lot  of  sanitary 
work  all  through  this  state,  and,  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Dr.  Fenton"  (Billy's  friend  on  the  State 
Board  of  Health)  "we  will  begin  with  a  small 
camp,  as  headquarters,  over  in  the  Bull  Creek 
district,  just  outside  of  Dolittle." 

"Dolittle?"  from  Mrs.  Hoover,  with  a  slight 
smile,  "Then  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Frank,  if  you 
have  to  be  on  duty  there.  It  is  an  ugly  section 
of  South  Carolina,  the  only  redeeming  feature 
being  "the  Folly  Quarters",  that  beautiful  old 
plantation  that  lies  to  the  north  of  the  village, 
and  that  belongs  to  the  Browns.  They  have 
had  it  since  before  the  American  Revolution, 
though  I  understand  that  Senator  Cubb  thinks 
of  buying  it." 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Hollis  responded  drily,  "I  rather 
think  the  Hon.  Jeremiah  Cubb  will  buy  it, 
which  may  explain  the  interest  that  your 
Board  of  Health  takes  in  the  sanitation  of  that 
section  first,  for  I  understand  that  mosquitoes 
are  on  the  rampage  down  there.  It  is  just  pos- 
sible, you  know,  Mary.  Well,  anyway,  we  are 
to  estabUsh  a  camp  in  the  Dolittle  neighbor- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  7 

hood,  a  sort  of  a  temporary  headquarters,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  John  Iron  is  to  be  in  charge. 
He  is  an  awful  old  bear,  and  has  been  in  such 
frantic  altercation  with  the  municipal  authori- 
ties at  New  Orleans  that  the  Washington 
Bureau  must  give  him  some  other  station.  The 
real  soul  and  life  of  the  thing,  though,  will  be 
Ian  Whitlock,  one  of  the  Assistant  Surgeon 
Generals,  and,  as  you  know,  he  is  a  regular 
Bayard,  a  gracious,  polished  man  of  the  world, 
with  a  reputation  as  a  sanitarian,  that  extends 
from  Tokio  to  London  and  from  New  York 
to  Bahia  and  Rio.  We  call  him  "the  Chief,"  and 
he  is  a  wonderful  man,  all  through.  His  chief 
of  staff  is  that  idiot,  Jimmy  Neems,  a  full  Sur- 
geon, like  old  Iron,  and  he  is  no  addition  to  the 
Service.  I  hope  that  every  Anopheles — ma- 
laria mosquito,  my  dear — may  find  him  as 
charming  as  I  did  not.  I  served  with  him  in 
Cuba,  at  Matanzas,  and  then,  had  him  for  cof- 
fee, breakfast  and  dinner  for  three  whole,  hate- 
ful years  in  the  old  Panama  days.  Now,  if 
you  can  only  think  of  something  that  your  Boy 
Scout  could  do  in  camp,  I — " 

Mary  Hoover  began  to  laugh  softly,  though 
her  busy  fingers  never  dropped  a  stitch  in  the 
stocking  she  was  knitting,  a  roll-top,  scout 
stocking  for  her  son. 

"The  very  thing,  Frank,"  she  said  gaily  "He 
can  cook." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  wish  to  con- 


8  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

sign  our  poor  old  stomachs  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  a  fourteen-year-old,  Mary  Hoover?" 
Mr.  Hollis  cried  in  good-natured  surprise. 

"I  most  certainly  do  mean  it,  Frank,"  the 
lady  laughed  back,  "and  the  aforesaid  aged 
stomachs  might  seek  farther  and  fare  worse. 
Billy  is  a  first  rate  cook.  He  prepared  your 
entire  breakfast  this  morning.  Why,  he  has  a 
merit  badge  for  cooking,  in  his  scout  troop." 

"Which  means  just  nothing  at  all,  my  dear," 
Mr.  Hollis  smiled,  "for  I  can  roast  potatoes, 
bake  a  Johnny  cake  and  cook  a  hunter^s  stew 
myself,  thank  you;  but  those  hot  rolls  and  that 
cheese  omelet  at  breakfast  are  too  strong  a 
recommendation  to  pass  unnoticed!  If  you 
are  willing,  and  if  the  youngster  has  enough 
sense  not  to  be  ashamed  of  the  work,  as  I  be- 
lieve he  has,  you  may  consider  him  already  en- 
gaged as  a  cook  for  Camp  Ross,  the  salary  to 
be  $50.00  per  month." 

And  so  it  was  settled  and,  a  week  later.  First 
Class  Scout  Billy  Hoover,  in  the  olive  drab 
shirt,  short  khaki  pants,  bare  knees  and  rolled 
down  stockings  of  his  scouting  uniform,  found 
himself  in  the  nest  of  cabins,  among  the  pines, 
on  Bull  Creek,  in  the  county  of  Dolittle,  about 
three  miles  from  the  village  of  that  name, 
regularly  installed  as  a  "Cookie"  for  the 
United  States  Public  Health  Service,  quite  de- 
termined to  do  his  best  now  that  he  had  be- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT 


come  "a  Service  boy",  but  gloomily  certain 
that  nothing  of  interest  could  possibly  happen 
so  near  home,  while  up  in  the  Blue  Ridge  some- 
thing was  sure  to  happen  every  minute. 


CHAPTER  11. 

"Hostess :  Here's  a  goodly  tumult !  Til  forswear  keeping 
house,  afore  Fll  be  in  these  tirrets  and  frights. 
So ;  murder,  I  warrant  now ! — Alas,  alas ! 
Put  up  your  naked  weapons,  put  up  your 
naked  weapons!" 

WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 

"The  Army  drab,  the  Navy  blue, 
Help  mighty  empires  'raise  a  fog*, 

They  help  'emselves,  but  Me  and  You, 
{The  Service)  help  the  under  dog." 
From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

WHERE  NOTHING  EVER  HAPPENS 

Camp  Ross,  named  in  honor  of  the  great  Sir 
Ronald  Ross,  who  established  the  fact  that 
malaria  was  conveyed  to  man  through  the 
agency  of  a  mosquito,  looked  very  peaceful, 
though  hot,  late  one  afternoon,  and  Cookie, 
seated  before  the  door  of  the  two  room  log 
cabin  that  served  half  for  storeroom  and  half 
for  kitchen,  passed  one  damp  arm  across  his 
dripping  face,  and  over  the  crisp  mass  of  his 
upstanding  hair.  He  had  discarded  every- 
thing except  the  short  khaki  pants  and  the 
lightness  of  a  sleeveless,  gauze  undershirt,  and 

ID 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  ii 

yet  he  was  fairly  baking  as  he  peeled  potatoes, 
in  company  with  an  aged  negro,  named  Pete. 
Except  for  these  two,  the  camp  was  deserted, 
for  the  small  force  of  doctors  and  the  two  sani- 
tary engineers,  with  their  assistants,  were  out 
somewhere  in  the  broiling  sun,  on  field  work, 
with  the  exception  of  one  unfortunate  young 
officer  who  had  been  sent  up  to  address  a  set 
of  school  children  on  Sago  branch,  for  the  very 
first  time  in  his  life  being  forced  to  make  a 
speech.  The  main  work  at  present  was  to  do 
some  ditching,  after  Mr.  Hollis  had  made  his 
sanitary  survey,  so  that  the  meadows  about 
camp  could  drain  into  Bull  Creek. 

I  say  that  the  camp  was  deserted,  save  for 
the  young  scout  and  the  old  negro,  and  so  it 
was,  unless  you  care  to  count  a  pair  of  vicious 
mules,  known  as  Ike  and  Bob,  grizzled  vet- 
erans of  most  evil  repute,  who  drew  any  thing 
from  a  dirt  scoop  or  a  plough,  to  a  quite  start- 
ling vehicle,  probably  an  heirloom,  that  was 
known  at  Camp  Ross  as  'Old  Ironsides'',  and 
that  was  popularly  reported  to  have  cost  a 
fabulous  price  in  the  days  of  its  youth  and 
beauty.  On  the  rare  occasions  of  its  paying  a 
visit  to  the  nearby  village  of  Dolittle,  it  was 
always  occupied  by  Senior  Surgeon  John  Iron, 
and  its  advent  in  front  of  Habakuk  Meers' 
general  store,  and  also  post  office,  was  always 
greeted  by  faint  cheers,  an  occurence  that  en- 
raged its  irrascible  occupant  mightily.      Old 


12  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Uncle  Pete  was  invariably  to  be  found  on  the 
box  at  these  times,  and,  as  both  he  and  the 
ancient  equipage  had  belonged  to  the  Brown 
family  in  anti-bellum  days,  he  explained  that 
the  comment  it  excited  was  all  due  to  a  tra- 
ditional admiration  and  veneration  on  the  part 
of  the  "po'  white  trash",  for  "ole  marse  War- 
field's  ca'aige". 

Small,  puffy  little  clouds  of  red  clay  dust 
down  the  winding  road  from  Dolittle  pro- 
claimed the  coming  of  a  rider,  and  Billy  raised 
his  eyes  with  excitement,  rejoicing  openly;  for 
any  one  was  welcome  to  him  on  a  hot,  lone- 
some afternoon  like  this,  when  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do  for  the  next  hour  but  to  peel  potatoes 
and  to  sing  softly,  old  Pete  adding  a  sweet, 
shaky  tenor  to  the  Scout's  low  contralto: 

"  'Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Goin'  fo'  ter  carry  me  home! 
Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Goin'  fo'  ter  carry  me  home! 

Ah  looked  at  ma  hands,  an*  ma  hands  looked  new, 
(Goin'  fo'  ter  carry  me  home!) 

A  troop  ob  angels  comin'  into  view, 

(Goin'  fo'  ter  carry  me  home  !)*  " 

and  so  on  through  the  endless  quaintness  of 
the  old  negro  hymn.  A  rattle  of  wagon  wheels, 
coming  from  the  opposite  direction  as  the 
rider,  made  the  scout  feel  quite  gay. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  13 

"Yay,  Uncle  Pete,"  he  cried  with  enthusiasm 
and  shying  a  bit  of  potato  at  an  empty  wooden 
water  bucket,  ''Watch  me  hit  the  bull's  eye 
every  time!  Ping!  Told  you  so.  Gee,  I 
hope  that  wagon  stops  here!  Goody,  that's 
just  what  it's  going  to  do!  And  here  comes 
that  horse — no  suh,  it's  a  mule — but  he's  going 
to  stop  here,  too!  Isn't  that  great,  Uncle 
Pete?" 

"'Evenin'  stranger!"  called  one  of  the  men 
in  the  wagon — there  were  three  of  them,  and 
a  dusty,  slab-like  woman.  "Got  a  go'd  o' 
water,  sonny?  Ma  'lowed  she  mus'  hev  a 
drink  or  bus',"  and  he  let  out  a  toothless  cackle. 

He  was  not  over  fifty  and  was  dressed  in 
dirty  overalls,  and  a  straw  farmer's-hat,  with  a 
shoestring  interlaced  through  the  base  of  the 
crown  to  make  it  fit.  The  other  men  were  very 
much  like  him,  except  that  one  was  very  old 
and  weazened  and  tiny,  and  the  other  was 
quite  young,  probably  not  more  than  eighteen 
or  nineteen. 

"Wanta  drink.  Pap?"  he  of  the  diny  overalls 
how^led,  taking  the  brimming  gourd  dipper 
that  Billy  handed  him  and  offering  it  tojh^  old 
man.  ^ 

''No,  no,"  the  aged  one  piped,  shaking  his 
bald  head  emphatically.  *'I  ^on\  want  nothin' 
ter  do  with  it.  It  -^lought  be  pizened,Henery. 
Them  Federal  fetors  air  campin'  lere,  an' 
they  do  say  they're  a  crazy  lot.     Why,  WLb,  says 


14  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

they're  a'  lookin'  fer  skeeter  aiges ! — to  cook 
'em,  I  reckon."  and  he  laughed  shrilly,  and 
then  began  to  cough. 

"Pap's  a  cute  one,  Pap  is !"  the  youth  in  the 
wagon  chuckled,  then,  noticing  the  approach 
of  the  mule,  he  added  in  a  sing-song  drawl  that 
they  all  used:  "Ef  it  aint  Gopher  Bean! 
Evenin',  Gopher.     Been  to  the  mill?" 

"Nope,'  answered  the  Gopher,  a  thick  set, 
sun  browned  lad  of  fifteen,  like  the  rest  in  over- 
alls and  straw  hat,  "I  been  to  town,  Jim.  Big 
doin's  in  town,  too,"  and  he  let  his  muscular 
young  body  slump  down  in  the  saddle,  while 
he  scratched  one  bare  leg  with  some  show  of 
enjoyment. 

"What's  he  say,  Henery?"  the  aged  one 
piped.  "Somethin'  wrong  in  the  town?  Ef 
that's  so,  I  ain't  a-goin'  nigh  it,"  and  he  shut 
his  old  mouth  with  a  click  of  finality. 

"Pap's  the  cutest  ole  critter  fo'  his  eighty-fo' 
years,  I  ev^er  see,"  Jim  Bode  (the  family  were 
all  named  Bode)  cackled  hilariously. 

"But  you  will  be  a-goin'  to  town  though,  Mr. 
Bode,"  the  Gopher  grinned,  "when  I  tell  you 
what*b  l>een  gone,  an'  went,  an'  done  thar.  It's 
the  pow'fullec^t,  awfullest,  whoppin'est,  dare- 
devilest — " 

But  tere  "Ma"  took  a  i^and: 
"Dra:   that   Gopher   Bea^^j"   she  said   with 
much  csperity,  "Aint  you  got  no  sense,  you 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  15 

fool  boy?      What's  the  pow'fullest,  awfullest, 
whoppin'est — an'  all  the  rest  of  it?" 

Gopher  Bean  winked  at  Billy,  and  wrinkled 
his  snubbed,  freckled  nose  in  huge  enjoyment, 
pushing  the  mat  of  towsled  brown  hair  off  his 
forehead: 

"Why  the  highwayman,  Mis'  Bode,"  he 
drawled  with  the  utmost  glee. 

"A  highwayman,  in  Dolittle?  Fo'  the  land 
o'  Goshen!"  Ma  cried,  while  the  aged  one  pro- 
ceeded to  scramble  down,  with  the  help  of  a 
deeply  interested,  though  grinning,  Boy  Scout. 

'I  be  a'goin'  to  walk  back  home,  Henery,"  he 
piped  in  agitation,  "An'  ef  you  was  anything 
of  a  proper  man-sized  man,  you'd  be  pow'ful 
'shamed  to  take  a  po'  ole  critter  like  me  right 
into  the  hands  of  sech!  When  I  was  a  lad — 
an'  a  fine,  strappin'  one  I  was,  too — over  in  the 
old  country,  I'd  a'  been  'shamed  to  death  to  do 
the  like." 

"Heah,  heah.  Pap,"  the  youthful  Jim  called, 
"Git  back  in  the  wagon.  Papa  aint  so  crazy  to 
go  meet  a  highwayman,  I'll  bet,"  then,  in  an 
aside  to  Billy  Hoover,  "Pap's  the  cutest  ole 
critter  fo'  takin'  care  o'  hisself.  Pap  is,"  and  he 
spat  most  expertly  on  the  wagon  wiieeh 

"Did  they  catch  the  high-'^y^an.  Gopher.?" 
Henery  asked,  offering  ^^s  son  a  bit  of  cut 
plug,  which  the  latt--  took  absently, 

"No,  sirree,"  tV"  ^^V  ^n  the  mule  laughed. 
"He  got  clean  ^>^^y>  ^  bet." 


i6  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Who'd  he  highway?"  Ma  demanded  eager- 

"Well,  you'd  be  just  plum  emazed  ef  I  toF 
you,  ma'am,"  Gopher  Bean  grinned  slowly,  af- 
ter which  he  scratched  his  brown  leg  once 
more,  and  became  exasperatingly  silent. 

"Fo'  two  pins  I'd  slap  that  face  of  yours, 
Gopher  Bean,"  Ma  cried  in  exasperation,  "Go 
on  an'  tell  yer  tale — I  suspicion  thet  et's  a 
whole  possel  o'  lies — an'  then  shet  yo'  mouth." 

"Ma's  sorter  riled.  Gopher,"  Jim  Bode 
chuckled,  and  the  Gopher  giggled  happily.  He 
was  enjoying  himself  thoroughly  now. 

"Peers  that  way,  Jim,"  he  assented  gra- 
ciously. "Et  was  this  a'way,  Mis'  Bode.  Ole 
Habakuk  was  a-settin'  in  his  sto'  las'  night." 
'bout  nine  o'clock,  and  he  was  all  by  hisself." 

"Habakuk  Meers,  you  mean.  Gopher?"  Ma 
interrupted. 

"Yes  ma'am."  The  Gopher  responded  with 
gentle  politeness. 

"Then  et  just  serves  the  ole  fool  right  fo' 
settin'  up  so  late."  Ma  flung  out  severely. 
"Any  Christian  oughter  be  in  bed  befo'  that." 

But  the  aged  one  began  to  chuckle,  quite  as 
ithe  maddest  of  wags  might  have  done. 

"When  I  wa.,  <t^  the  old  country,"  he  piped, 
with  pride,  "Out  in  ^xVessex,  us  boys  used  ter 
set  up  nigh  to  twelve  o'.Iq^.^^^  e^gj-y  Saturday 
night  'most." 

"Aint  he  the  cutest  ole  crii.oj.  fo'  eighty-fo', 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  17 

you  ever  saw,  Gopher?"  young  Jim  laughed 
admiringly,  "An'  can't  he  tell  the  durnest 
lies?" 

'*Git  along  with  thet  story,  Gopher  Bean." 
Ma  struck  in  pettishly.  "An'  do  shet  yo' 
mouth,  Jim  Bode.  Et  were  ole  Habakuk 
Meers  thet  was  highwayed,  were  et?" 

"Yes  ma'am,  thet's  who  et  were.  Well,  he 
says  a  feller  comes  in  an'  aks  him  fo'  a  plug 
o'  Niggerhead,  and  jus'  as  he  was  gittin'  et, 
he  sees  the  feller  pointin'  a  pistol  in  his  face. 
Hab  lows  he  weren't  one  mite  skairt,  but  I 
know  better'n  that,  an  he  hit  right  plum  out 
at  the  feller,  but  the  feller  knocked  him  down 
an'  traumpled  on  him  just  scan'lous,  an'  then 
tied  him  to  a  cheer." 

"Lordy,  lordy,"  from  Ma,  with  a  keen  relish 
for  the  news,  "but  aint  thet  awful?  My,  my, 
what  sorter  man  was  it.  Gopher?" 

"W-well,"  the  Gopher  drawled,  "Hab  said 
et  were  so  blamed  dark-like  in  the  sto'  thet  he 
couldn't  see  the  feller's  face  good,  but  he  was 
pow'ful  big  and  strong,  an  had  a  yaller  beard. 
He  stole  some  vittles  and — " 

"Well?"  from  the  rest  eagerly. 

"Well,  he  took  the  mail  bag,  too,  the  one  fo' 
the  north." 

"Say,"  Billy  Hoover  cried  suddenly,  "That's 
just  tough !  We  had  heaps  of  stuff  in  that  bag, 
I  bet,  for  Washington.  And,  huUy-gee !  Yes 
suh,  cousin  Frank  had  some  glass  test  tubes 


i8  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

in  a  box  with  skeeter  larvae  in  them,  and  I  reck- 
on the  old  eggs  will  all  spoil,  for  sure.  Aw, 
Gee!  are  you  all  going?  I'll  give  you  some 
apples  if  you'll  stay.  They  are  some  swell 
apples,  too.  Honest  they  are.  Please  stay 
around  a  while,  wont  you?"  but  he  only  spoke 
to  a  cloud  of  dust,  for  "Pap,"  "Ma",  "Henery" 
and  "Jim"  were  fast  disappearing  down  the 
road,  homeward  bound,  while  a  laughing 
Gopher  galloped  after  them  on  his  mule,  vow- 
ing most  cheerfully,  and  at  the  top  of  his 
young  lungs,  that  he  was  "  'most  skairt  ter 
death,  hisself"  and  further  that  he  "sho'  did 
hope  they'd  all  see  home  once  mo',  "  but  that 
he  "was  plum  sure  none  of  'em  ever  would." 

"Marse  Billy,"  came  the  voice  of  old  Pete, 
"I  reckon  I  better  go  see  Bru'er  Phillips  'bout 
dis.    Yas  suh,  I  sho'  had  better  see  'im." 

"Who's  Brother  Phillips,  Uncle  Pete?" 
Billy  demanded  crossly. 

"He  a  man  o'  God,  Marse  Billy."  Pete  re- 
plied solemnly.  "Black  wif  out,  but  purest 
white  wif  in.  I  knows,  chile,  kase  I  helps  pay 
his  salary." 

"But  why  in  time  do  you  want  to  run  off 
and  see  him  now?"  the  boy  asked  a  bit  help- 
lessly. "There's  not  a  soul  in  camp  but  you 
and  me,  and  the  rest  wont  be  back  before  eight, 
and- — I  reckon  I'm  scared  a  little — anyway,  I 
don't  feel  good.  Uncle  Pete,  so  I  wish  you'd 
stay." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  19 

"Lordy,  Marse  Billy,"  the  old  negro  said 
comfortingly,  ''Highwayman  aint  goin'  ter  do 
nothin'  ter  a  po'  li'l  boy  like  you,  less  he  ties 
you  to  a  tree  an'  takes  yo'  clothes,  an'  licks 
yer,  so  don't  you  worry.  He  wouldn't  do 
nothin'  mo'n  that,  Marse  Billy." 

"Well,  I  think  that's  a  whole  lot,  myself." 
Billy  flushed,  though  he  grinned  in  spite  of 
himself.  ''And  I  think  you  might  stay.  Uncle 
Pete." 

"Ah  jus'  cyant  do  et,  honey,"  the  old  man 
said  regretfully,  "kase  de  Spirit  tells  me  ter 
go  an'  seek  out  Bru'er  Phillips.  Dis  county 
es  sho'  in  need  ob  de  prahyers  ob  de  faithful. 
Yas  Lord.  Um-m-m!"  and  he  ambled  off,  an 
old  muzzle  loading  shot  gun  slung  over  his 
shoulder. 

Bill}^  Hoover  watched  his  departure  with 
ever  rising  indignation,  but  at  last  he  managed 
to  laugh  a  little. 

"Blamed  if  he  isn't  scaredder  than  I  am," 
he  said  sheepishly. 

Going  into  the  cabin  he  locked  the  door  of 
the  windowless  storeroom  carefully,  took 
down  a  small  Winchester  22 — his  own  prop- 
erty— and  seating  himself  on  the  round  log 
that  served  for  a  doorstep,  he  scratched  his 
yellow  head  with  nervous  thoughtfulness,  and 
gazed  down  the  dusty  road  toward  the  village, 
the  gun  across  his  bare  knees. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"And  still  on  a  winter's  night,  they  say,  when  the  wind 

is  through  the  trees 
And  the  waves  are  like  ghostly  galleons,  tossed  upon 

angry  seas, 
And  the  road  is  a  ribbon  of  misty  light,  over  the  purple 

moor, 
A  highwayman  comes  riding. 

Riding,  riding, 
A  highwayman  comes  riding,  up  to  the  old  inn  door." 

ALFRED  NOYES. 

"An'  our  skins  went  creepy-creep. 

But  we  simply  had  to  peep, 
In  that  shadowed  bastian — Hey,   'twas  witches'   noon! 

Was  he  really  darkly  bad? 

Or  some  sun-browned  fisher  lad? 
Out  standing  in  the  shimmer  of  the  moon. 

Ah,  that  naked,  boyish  swimmer. 

Flashing  fairly  in  the  shimmer. 
Of  a  pathway  to  our  tropic  moon. — 

'Hush !    'Tis  the  Pirate's  son !'  we  said : 
'Quick,  Service  boys,  race  back  to  bed !'  " 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service/' 

THE  HIGHWAYMAN 

Billy  waited,  nervous,  but  resolute,  for  some- 
thing to  happen,  and  of  course  nothing  did 
happen — it  never  does  if  you  sit  and  wait  for  it 
— then,  as  it  was  half-past  six,  he  remembered 

20 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  21 

that  his  cousin,  Frank  HolHs,  had  expressed 
a  wish  for  chicken  pie,  and  that  he  had  care- 
fully boiled  the  chickens  in  preparation  for  it, 
the  earlier  part  of  that  afternoon: 

"Aw,  Pshaw!"  he  grunted  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  "I'm  getting  mighty  scary  in  my  old  age! 
If  that  highwayman  should  come  here,  he 
couldn't  do  much  to  a  fourteen  year  old  kid, 
and,  anyway,  that  pie  wont  wait  any  longer. 
Those  fellow^s  will  want  their  *chow'  at  eight, 
sharp.  I've  got  the  store-room  key  in  my 
pocket,  so  that's  just  about  all  I  can  do, 
anyway." 

Taking  his  rifle  into  the  kitchen  with  him, 
he  laid  it  on  the  rough  pine  table,  and  then 
went  in  quest  of  flour,  cold  water,  salt,  lard 
and  so  forth  for  his  pie.  He  was  awfully  proud 
of  his  pies,  was  Master  Billy!  Getting  down 
a  big,  earthenware  bowl,  he  sifted  a  quart  of 
flour  into  it,  having  first  mixed  in  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  salt.  Then  he  dug  out  a  cup  full  of  lard 
and  set  it  in  readiness  on  the  table  with  a  cup 
full  of  cold  water.  Then  he  dug  several  dents 
in  the  flour,  and  stuck  a  small  piece  of  lard, 
and  about  one  third  as  much  butter,  into  each 
dent,  after  which  he  dived  his  tough,  white 
arms  into  the  bowl,  working  the  lard,  butter 
and  flour  together,  adding  just  enough  of  the 
water  to  make  the  mass  adhere,  and  singing 
lustily  as  he  did  so: 


22  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"  'Things  has  changed  about  de  place,  de  darkeys  is  no  mo*, 
Ah'll  nebber  hear  'em  singin'  soft  again — 
An'  de  only  thing  dats  lef  me  am  dat  little  dog  o'  mine 
An'  ma  little  ole  log  cabin  in  de  lane.' " 

He  sang  the  negro  dialect  as  easily  and  nat- 
urally as  only  a  southern  boy  can,  the  while  he 
took  down  a  rolling  pin  and  a  smoothly  planed 
board  of  cedar,  dusting  both  with  flour.  Then 
he  picked  up  the  dough,  in  an  elastic,  solid 
mass  now,  and  laid  it  on  the  board,  rolling  it 
out  quite  gently  to  about  an  inch  of  thick- 
ness, after  which  he  jabbed  many  holes  in  it 
with  his  index  finger,  placing  more  dots  of  lard 
in  each  hole.  Then  he  dusted  the  whole  with 
sifted  flour,  rolled  it  up  and  began  to  work  it 
once  more,  for  to  make  really  good  pie  crust 
you  must  be  possessed  of  the  patience  of  Job. 
During  the  kneading  process  his  voice  dropt 
to  a  soft  hum: 

"  *Dar  was  an  ole  nigger,  an'  his  name  was  Uncle  Ned, 

An'  he  libed  long  ago,  long  ago. 
He  had  no  hyar  on  de  top  ob  his  head, 

In  de  place  whare  de  hyar  ought  ter  grow.' " 

Once  more  he  gently  rolled  out  the  dough, 
and  once  more  he  prodded  it  with  a  stout  fin- 
ger, and  added  the  lard,  dusting  it  again  with 
flour,  after  which  he  rolled  the  whole  mass, 
now  feathery  and  flaky,  but  quite  firm,  into  a 
wide  slab,  about  one  fourth  of  an  inch  thick: 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  23 

"  'Hang  up  de  shubble  an'  de  hoe. 
Hang  up  de  fiddle  an'  de  bow. 
Fo'  dars  no  mo'  work  fo'  po'  Uncle  Ned, 
He  has  gone  whare  de  good  darkeys  go.' " 

Scout  Billy  now  became  very  brisk.  Seizing 
a  porcelain  lined  pan,  about  four  inches  deep, 
he  lined  it  with  dough,  cutting  off  the  over- 
hanging edges  with  a  knife  and  rolling  them 
out  again  on  the  board  for  an  upper  crust. 
Then  he  took  the  chickens,  two  aged  hens  too 
tough  for  any  fate  other  than  boiling,  dis- 
jointed them,  and  cut  their  meat  into  good 
sized  pieces,  from  one  to  two  and  a  half  inches. 
After  that  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  stew 
in  which  the  hens  had  been  cooked.  To  this, 
after  heating  it  on  the  stove,  he  added  six 
boiled  potatoes,  cut  into  small  cubes,  a  bunch 
of  parsley,  a  teaspoonful  of  whole  cloves,  a 
teaspoonful  of  dry  mustard,  salt  and  pepper, 
and  then  thickened  it  all  by  adding  a  mixture 
made  by  making  a  paste  out  of  one  third  of  a 
cup  of  flour,  a  tablespoonful  of  butter,  and 
enough  milk  and  water,  in  equal  parts,  to  make 
a  thick,  creamy  substance.  As  he  poured  this 
into  the  stew,  he  stirred  the  boiling  mass 
briskly,  and  sang  an  old  deep-sea  chantey,  the 
cheerful  purport  of  which  was  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  "all  among  the  dead  men.''  Finally, 
he  placed  the  chicken,  in  a  pile,  in  the  pan  and 
pouring  the  thick,  soupy  mass  over  it  he  added 
the  top  crust,  and  stuck  little  holes  in  it  with 


24  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

a  three  pronged,  steel  fork.  Gazing  at  his 
handiwork  with  frank  pride,  his  yellow  head 
cocked  on  one  side,  he  picked  up  the  pan  and 
slid  it  into  the  oven,  which  was  only  moder- 
ately hot. 

"I  bet  Cousin  Frank  will  be  tickled  silly  with 
that  pie,"  he  exulted,  "And  if  he  aint,  he  ought 
to  be.  It's  just  bee-yu-tiful !  For  the  rest  I'll 
give  them  hot  Johnny  Cake  (any  scout  can 
make  that),  a  jar  of  that  strawberry  jam 
Mamma  sent  me,  the  rest  of  the  cold  ham, 
mashed  potatoes,  and  coffee,  and  I'm  sure 
that's  nice  enough  for  the  King  of  England." 
Then,  without  a  word  of  warning,  his  fists 
clenched  at  his  sides  and  he  uttered  a  fright- 
ened, breathless  little  scream,  while  a  most 
disagreeable  amount  of  cold  sweat  broke  out 
all  over  his  tough,  satiny  young  body. 

Clean  and  sharp  in  the  growing  dusk  he 
could  hear  the  thud  of  a  galloping  horse,  com- 
ing nearer  and  nearer,  and  Billy's  heart  kept 
accurate  time  to  those  beating  hoofs.  His 
hands  and  arms  still  dusty  with  flour,  he  grab- 
bed his  small  Winchester,  and  ran  to  the  door, 
lifting  it  to  his  shoulder  as  he  did  so,  just  as 
the  horse,  a  beautiful  animal,  swung  into  the 
clearing  about  Camp  Ross,  and  its  rider 
vaulted  to  the  ground. 

"Now  you  just  stay  right  where  you  are," 
the  scout  called,  steadying  his  boyish  voice  the 
best  he  could,  and  devoutly  thankful  it  was  a 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  25 

contralto  instead  of  a  soprano,  though  a  basso 
profundo  would  have  been  still  more  to  his 
liking.  ''If — if  you  come  one  jump  nearer, 
ril  kill  you,  honest." 

"Aw,  what's  eatin'  you,  anyway?"  came 
back  a  gruff  response  in  a  boy's  voice,  ''I  reck- 
on I  can  come  to  see  you  if  I  want  to.  That's 
a  nice  way  to  treat  a  fellow^!  pointing  an  old 
gun  at  him!" 

Billy  Hoover,  with  a  great  wave  of  relief, 
looked  at  his  guest,  and  as  he  did  so  he  lowered 
his  rifle,  turned  quite  pink,  and  then  grinned : 

''Yay,  Wardy,"  he  giggled,  utterly  abashed 
at  his  mistake,  "You  just  about  scared  this 
Boy  Scout  to  death." 

"Huh,"  from  Wardy  as  he  trotted  up  to  the 
cabin  and  sat  down  on  the  single  step,  "Then 
you're  lots  more  scary  than  I  thought,  Billy 
Hoover.      I    thought    you    scouts    had    some 

spunk." 

"We  have  got  spunk,"  Billy  flung  back 
stoutly,  "but  honest,  Wardy  Brown,  I— I  was 
looking  for  a— a  highwayman,"  and  he  burst 
out  into  his  own,  good-natured  laugh. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  look  like  one,  do  I?" 
Wardy  demanded  with  a  growing  resentment, 
"I  may  be  pretty  tough,  but  I'm  not  that  bad." 

He  certainly  did  not  look  like  a  highway- 
man. He  was  just  Billy's  age,  but  at  least 
three  inches  shorter,  and  as  sturdy  and  solid  as 
a  boy  could  be.    He  had  a  lot  of  fluffy,  tow- 


26  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

colored  hair,  just  now  crammed  under  an  old, 
weather  beaten  hat  of  brown  felt,  stuck  on  the 
back  of  a  round  head.  Out  of  his  sun  browned, 
jolly  face,  a  bit  sulky  just  now,  looked  a  pair 
of  very  big,  practical  blue  eyes.  With  the  tip 
of  his  tongue  just  peeping  from  between  the 
lips  of  his  wide  mouth,  he  gazed  on  Billy  sul- 
lenly . 

"Gee,  but  you're  a  nice  boy,  Billy  Hoover,'* 
he  said.  "I  reckon  if  I  hadn't  of  spoken  when 
I  did  I'd  have  gone^  back  to  the  Folly  Quarters 
with  a  hole  in  my  tummy  from  that  old  bean 
shooter  of  yours." 

Billy  resented  the  disparaging  remark  about 
his  Winchester,  but  he  kept  his  temper  like  the 
good  scout  he  was,  for  he  was  fond  of  Wardy 
Brown,  the  little  he  had  seen  of  him,  and  he 
was  sorry  for  him  too,  in  many  ways. 

Warfield  Edward  Brown,  for  that  was  the 
tow  headed  youngster's  real  name,  was  the 
last  of  his  family  that  was  left.  He  owned  the 
big  plantation  that  was  called  the  Folly  Quar- 
ters, and  lived  there  with  his  guardian,  who 
was  also  his  tutor,  and  with  a  few  of  the  old 
servants  that  had  belonged  to  his  grandfather 
before  the  Civil  War.  He  had  met  Billy  twice 
before  in  Charleston,  after  Easter  services  at 
the  great  Cathedral,  and  twice  since  the  scout 
had  been  a  Service  "Cookie." 

"You  can  laugh  at  me,  and  guy  me,  all  you 
want,  Wardy,"  Billy  said,  "but  the  Bode  family 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  27 

were  here  a  while  ago,  with  a  kid  they  called 
Gopher  Bean — tough  looking  guy,  but  ever  so 
funny — and  what  they  had  to  say  about  that 
robbery  over  at  Dolittle  made  my  hair  stand 
right  up  on  end." 

''Huh,"  Wardy  grunted,  though  he  grinned 
too  while  he  passed  one  hand  up  and  down  the 
stout  calf  of  his  bare  leg,  'T  w^sh  you'd  tell  me 
when  it  ever  did  any  thing  else.  You're  just 
crazy  in  the  head  with  the  heat,  Billy,  or  you 
wouldn't  ever  think  of  a  highwayman  clatter- 
ing up  the  way  I  did.  Gee,  but  I'm  dirty,  Billy. 
I've  been  ploughing." 

"Aw,  don't  let's  talk  about  ploughing,  boy," 
Billy  cried  earnestly.  "As  to  that  highway- 
man, you  don't  know  just  what  a  highw^ayman 
might  do.  They  don't  always  come  sneaking 
up  on  soft,  little  footsies,  'cause  in  Treasure 
Island,  when  old  Pew  and  that  crowd  attacked 
the  Inn,  they  made  a  lot  of  racket.  Say, 
Wardy,  what  you  think  of  this  robbery,  any- 
how?" 

"I  don't  think  any  thing  about  it  at  all." 
Wardy  said  crossly.  "I  wish  you'd  quit  talk- 
ing about  it,  'cause  I'm  not  one  bit  interested 
in  it  myself."  Then,  looking  at  Billy  with  a 
mighty  scowl,  he  grabbed  his  gun.  "I'm  a  bad 
boy,  I'm  a  bad  boy!"  he  grinned  cheerfully, 
"And  I'll  show  you  how  a  highw^ayman  can 
carry  on,  if  you  want.  See  that  old  crow  out 
yonder?  Bet  you  I  can  hit  him  first  shot." 


28  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Get  out,  Wardy!"  Billy  laughed.  "You 
couldn't  hit  him  for  anything." 

"Watch  me,"  was  the  cryptic  reply,  where- 
upon Wardy  blazed  away  at  the  crow  several 
times,  until  the  magazine  was  empty,  but  the 
bird  hopped  easily  away,  for  not  a  shot  came 
near  him. 

"Some  shot,  Wardy!"  the  scout  jibed  good- 
naturedly.  "Now  if  I  had  any  more  cartridges 
over  here,  which  I  have  not,  Fd  show  you  how 
to  do  it." 

"Ain't  you  got  any  more?"  Wardy  asked 
with  interest. 

"No,  that  is,  not  over  here.  There  are  some 
in  Dr.  Iron's  cabin — the  Executive  Building 
we  call  it — but  that's  way  over  there  under 
those  pines.  Say,"  feehng  in  his  pocket,  "I 
have  got  just  one  left." 

"Then  let  me  see  you  hit  that  old  crow." 

Billy  took  the  gun,  cuddling  it  to  his  should- 
er with  the  skill  that  comes  from  long  practice, 
looked  down  the  sights,  re-aligned  them  a  bit, 
and  then  fired,  and  the  crow  toppled  over  at 
once. 

"O-o-oh!"  from  his  tow-headed  companion, 
"If  I'd  known  you  could  shoot  Hke  that  I'd 
never  in  this  world  have  tried  to — "  then, 
stammering  and  turning  quite  white  under  his 
tan,  he  added  "I — I  mean  I'd  never  have  shot 
at  all  myself.  You're  just  a  wonder,  Billy. 
Sure  that's  all  the  cartridges  you  got?" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  29 

"Sure  thing.  Why  what's  the  matter  with 
you,  anyway?  You're  as  white  as  any  thing. 
Not  feeHng  sick,  are  you?  What  is  the  matter, 
Wardy?" 

**Nothin'!"  Wardy  laughed  shakily,  chang- 
ing from  white  to  a  shamed  red,  ^'Thinking 
about  your  old  highwayman,  I  reckon,"  and  he 
whistled  suddenly,  possibly  from  a  desire  to 
appear  at  his  ease. 

"Wardy!   Quick!   What's  that?" 

Turning  a  dismayed,  startled  face  on  his 
companion,  Billy  grabbed  him  by  the  arm,  and 
as  he  did  so  a  sturdy,  youthful  figure  sprang 
past  him  from  the  doorway,  giving  the  scout  a 
swinging  blow  on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  as 
the  boy  stumbled  and  fell  on  his  face,  in  a  Httle 
heap,  the  figure  bounded  over  to  Wardy's 
mare,  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  and  gal- 
loped out  of  the  inclosure  and  up  the  road. 

"You're  not  hurt,  are  you  Billy?  Aw,  Gee, 
please  say  you're  not  much  hurt,  wont  you?" 
Wardy  asked,  as  a  big  tear  tumbled  down  his 
straight  nose,  quite  unheeded.  He  was  any- 
thing but  the  crying  sort,  and  so  Billy  was 
amazed. 

"No  indeed,  old  scout,"  he  said  quickly,  as 
he  picked  himself  out  of  the  dust,  "I'm  just 
plain  mad.  Say,  don't  look  at  me  like  that, 
Wardy.  I'm  not  mad  with  you.  That  fellow 
gave  me  a  beautiful  wallop,  though,  and  my 
head  does  ache  some!     Shall  we  chase  after 


30  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

him?      I've  got  my  Winchester,  you  know." 

"Sure  I  know/'  Wardy  answered  very  so- 
berly, his  round  face  very  uncomfortable,  "But 
you  haven't  got  any  thing  to  load  it  with,  not 
here  I  mean.  Anyway,  he's  on  my  Beauty 
horse,  and  she's  the  best  traveler  in  this 
county." 

"That's  so,"  the  scout  cried  contritely,  more 
distressed  for  Wardy  now  than  for  his  own 
bruised  head,  "I — I  certainly  am  sorry,  Wardy 
boy.  Here  I've  been  thinking  about  this  old 
yellow  head  of  mine — and  it's  had  lots  worse 
knocks  before — and  yet  you've  lost  your 
mare." 

"Y-yes,  I'm  just  awful  worried  about  it." 
Wardy  answered,  but  somehow  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  worried  about  it  at  all,  though  he 
was  still  very  near  crying. 

"Wonder  what  he  stole,"  Billy  said  briskly, 
to  give  the  other  boy  a  chance  to  pull  himself 
together.  "He  couldn't  get  in  the  pantry, 
'cause  I  have  the  key  in  my  pants  pocket.  Food 
is  so  awful  high  now  that  Cousin  Frank  and 
the  Chief  told  me  to  be  mighty  careful.  Well, 
I've  got  the  key,  and — "  then  he  stopped  dead, 
his  face  quite  blank,  for,  sticking  on  the  out- 
side of  the  store-room  door,  was  the  key. 
"Gee!"  poor  Billy  gasped,  regaining  his  voice 
at  last,  "The  pantry's  open,  and — and  I  bet  he's 
taken  most  every  thing!" 

"No  he  hasn't,  Billy,"  Wardy  called  from  the 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  31 

depths  of  the  store-room  which  he  had  entered, 
"He — he  only  took  a  ham." 

"Then  I  bet  it's  the  ham  we  bought  from 
you,  doggone  it,"  Billy  growled.  "And  those 
Folly  Quarter  hams  are  just  splendid.  I  was 
saving  it  for  Buster's  birthday.  Is  it  that  ham 
from  the  Folly  Quarters,  Wardy?" 

"Y-yes  suh — Billy,  I  mean."  Then,  with  a 
sound  very  like  a  sob,  Warfield  Brown  brushed 
passed  the  scout,  his  childish  face  working 
rather  piteously,  and  muttering  to  himself, 
these  quite  non-understandable  words: 

"Fm  a  bad  boy!  Fm  a  bad  boy!  It  aint 
never  nothin'  but  a  ham"  (in  his  grief  forgetful 
of  grammar).  "It  aint  never  nothin'  but  an 
old  ham,  b-but  Fm  a  bad  boy.  Fm  going  on 
back  to  the  Folly  Quarters,  Billy,  and — and 
Fll  send  Uncle  Ned  over  here  with  a  ham  for — 
for  Buster's  birthday  party,  you  see  if  I  don't. 
You're  the  only  kid  around  here  that  it's  any 
fun  to  play  with.  It  must  be  great  to  be  a  Boy 
Scout  and  have  lots  of  chums,  and  live  in  a  real 
city  like  Charleston.  Fm  going  on  back  to  the 
Folly  Quarters,  Billy.     So  long." 

"Look  here,  Wardy,"  Billy  struck  in  sturd- 
ily, "What  is  the  matter  with  you?  There 
isn't  a  bit  of  sense  in  your  calling  yourself  a 
bad  boy — 'cause  you're  no  such  a  thing.  You 
didn't  hit  me  on  the  side  of  the  head,  and  you 
didn't  take  that  ham.  I'm  tickled  silly  he  took 
nothing  else.     Why,   Wardy,   you   lost   your 


32  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

mare,  and  that's  heaps  worse.  I  reckon  that's 
why  you're  all  worked  up.  You're  such  a  lot 
of  fun,  'most  all  the  time,  that  it  sort  of  scares 
me  to  see  you  like  this.  I  wouldn't  worry 
about  the  mare.    I  bet  we  catch  that  thief." 

"Gee!"  from  Wardy,  his  own  tow  head  be- 
ginning to  bristle  like  a  youthful  hedgehog. 
"D-don't  you  talk  like  that.  'C-course  I  hope 
you  do  catch  him,  but  as  to  my  Beauty  horse, 
I  reckon  she'll  find  her  way  back  to  the  Folly 
Quarters  all  right.  Good  bye,  scout.  I'm  aw- 
ful glad  you're  not  hurt  much,  and — and  say, 
I'll  send  you  that  ham,  a  real  nice  one,  you 
just  see  if  I  don't,  so  there  won't  be  any  use 
talking  about  it,  will  there?" 

He  asked  the  question  so  wistfully  that  Billy 
grinned  in  spite  of  himself. 

"But  we've  got  to  tell  the  officers  about  it, 
or  they  can't  help  to  find  your  horse,"  he  said. 

"That  Beauty  horse'U  come  back  home," 
Wardy  replied  solemnly,  "so  just  you  please 
shut  up,  Billy,  and  I'll  shut  up,  'cause  there's 
enough  row  at  Dolittle  already." 

"Not  a  circumstance  to  what  it'll  be  when 
the  federal  authorities  get  on  the  trail  of  that 
highwayman,"  Billy  flung  back  cheerfully. 
"I  tell  you,  Wardy,  robbing  Uncle  Sam's  mail 
isn't  a  joke." 

"Robbin'  the  mail?"  young  Warfield  wailed, 
consternation  on  his  smooth  face,  and  utter 
terror,  too.     "Who  robbed  the  mail?     It — it 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  33 

was  old  Habakuk  Meers'  store  that  was  rob- 
bed. They — he — he  stold  a — a  ham,  only  a 
ham,  Billy.  Honest  that  was  all.  Where'd 
you  hear  about  the  mail?" 

"Why,  Gopher  Bean  told  about  it,"  Billy 
explained. 

''Then  that  Gopher  Bean's  sillier  than  I 
thought  he  w^as!"  Wardy  grunted,  a  sudden 
scowl  on  his  nice  face,  and,  doubling  up  his 
fists  truculently,  he  strode  away,  with  only  a 
gruff  "So  long,  Billy,  Tm  going  back  to  the 
Folly  Quarters — but  I'm  going  to  punch  some- 
body's brown  head  for  'em,  first.  See  if  I 
don't,"  and  he  looked  sturdy  enough,  and  mad 
enough  to  do  it,  too. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"Oh,  weren't  they  the  fine  boys!  You  never  saw  the 
beat  of  them, 

Singing  all  together  with  their  throats  bronze-bare; 
Fighting-fit  and  mirth-mad,  music  in  the  feet  of  them, 

Swinging  on  to  glory  and  the  wrath  out  there." 

ROBERT   SERVICE. 

"We  cleared  the  Hook,  we  crossed  the  bar, 
Each  with  his  kit,  his  woes,  his  joys — 

Ship  Island,  Naples,  Panama, 

It's  all  the  same  to  Service  boys." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  "CHIEF"  AND  HIS  "BOYS" 

Six-thirty  A.  M. !  Breakfast  should  be  nearly 
ready,  but  it  isn't!  Squeals  and  whoops  of 
rapturous  joy  come  from  the  kitchen,  where 
"Cookie",  a  big  white  apron,  with  a  bib,  tied 
about  his  body,  is  deep  in  the  first  part  of  Ian 
Hay's  "The  First  Hundred  Thousand."  The 
book  is  propped  before  him  at  one  end  of  the 
kitchen  table,  and  as  he  reads  he  stirs,  very 
lamely,  I  am  afraid,  at  something  destined 
eventually  to  become  what  he  calls  "batter 
cakes",  a  simple  batter  made  with  four  eggs, 
the  yolks  and  whites  beaten  separately,  three 

34 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  35 

teaspoonfuls  of  sugar,  one  of  salt,  and  one  of 
baking  powder,  the  last  mentioned  mixed  with 
enough  flour  to  make  a  thick,  creamy  batter, 
after  the  yolks  of  the  eggs,  the  sugar  and  the 
salt  have  been  stirred  together  with  three  cups- 
full  of  very  rich  milk.  Finally  the  stiffly  beaten 
whites  are  folded  in,  and  there  you  are!  All 
now  that  is  needed  is  a  very  hot  griddle, 
greased  for  each  new  batch  of  cakes  with  a 
bit  of  bacon  rind. 

It  seems  doubtful,  just  at  present,  as  to 
whether  the  batter  and  the  griddle  will  ever 
meet,  for  Billy  has  been  stirring  the  former  for 
the  last  half  hour. 

"Gee,  but  it's  just  great!"  he  chuckles,  re- 
ferring to  the  book,  not  the  batter  cakes,  "I 
bet  Sub-Lieutenant  felt  ashamed,  alright.  I 
know  I  would  have  been  my  own  self." 

He  had  been  reading  the  account  of  the  time 
that  an  unfortunate  subaltern,  after  a  serious 
discussion  of  when  and  where  and  how^  to 
salute,  held  with  two  other  young  fellows  of 
the  same  rank,  all  equally  in  dead  earnest,  un- 
wisely took  the  matter  to  one  Captain  Wag- 
staffe,  the  humorist  of  his  battaHon,  and  that 
sportive  officer  said  he  would  refer  it  all  to 
**the  Deputy  Assistant  Instructor  in  Mihtary 
Etiquette",  as  the  matter  was  of  the  gravest 
importance.  Later,  he  presented  the  unfor- 
tunate subaltern  with  a  carefully  typed  report, 
claiming  to  come  direct  from  the  Captain's 


36  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

mysterious  official,  and  it  was  the  reading  of 
certain  extracts  printed  from  this  paper  that 
was  the  cause  of  the  lateness  of  breakfast  at 
Camp  Ross,  and  of  Master  Billy's  joy,  too. 
The  whole  thing  tickled  him  immensely — 

"  'Special  Cases,'  "  he  read,  a  wide  grin  on 
his  mouth:  "  '(a)  A  soldier,  wheeling  a  wheel- 
barrow and  balancing  a  swill-tub  on  his  head, 
meets  an  officer  walking  in  review  dress. 

Correct  Procedure. — The  soldier  will  immediately  cant 
the  swill-tub  to  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  one  and  one  half  inches  above  his  right  eyebrow. 
(In  case  of  Rifle  Regiments  the  soldier  will  balance  the 
swill-tub  on  his  nose.)  He  will  then  invite  the  officer,  by 
a  smart  movement  of  the  left  ear,  to  seat  himself  on  the 
wheelbarrow. 

Correct  Acknowledgment. — The  officer  will  comply, 
placing  his  feet  upon  the  right  and  left  hubs  of  the  wheel, 
respectively,  with  the  ball  of  the  toe  in  each  case  at  a 
distance  of  one  inch  (when  serving  abroad  at  a  distance 
of  2^  centimetres)  from  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the 
wheelbarrow.  (In  the  case  of  Rifle  Regiments  the  offi- 
cer will  tie  his  feet  in  a  knot  at  the  back  of  his  neck.) 
The  soldier  will  then  advance  six  paces,  after  which  the 
officer  will  dismount  and  go  home  and  have  a  bath.'  " 

"Wonder  if  that  really  happened?"  Billy 
muttered  quite  wistfully.  "I  sure  hope  it  did. 
I'll  ask  Buster  about  it,  when  I  give  him  'The 
First  Hundred  Thousand'  for  his  birthday. 
He'll  know  all  about  it,  even  better  than  the 
Chief,  though  the  Chief  just  about  knows 
everything."     Then,  glancing  at  an  Ingersoll 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  37 

dollar  watch,  "Gee  whiz!  It's  'most  six-thirty- 
five,  and  I  haven't  sounded  Reveille!  Got  the 
flag  up,  though,  an  hour  ago,  thank  goodness!" 
Grabbing  a  battered  cornet,  that  for  six  long 
months  had  been  the  joy  of  his  heart,  he  strode 
to  the  open  doorway  (carefully  screened  with 
fine  copper  netting,  like  all  the  log  cabins), 
and  placing  the  instrument  to  his  lips,  let  it 
ring  out  the  call,  not  the  true  Reveille,  but 
"Boots  and  Saddles",  thinking  the  words  of 
the  old  cavalry  jargon  as  he  played: 

"Come  all  that  are  able, 
Go  down  to  the  stable, 

And  give  your  poor  horses  some  fodder  and  com  I 
For  if  you  don't  do  it 
The  Colonel  will  know  it 

And  then  you  will  rue  it  as  sure  as  you're  born  1" 

A  wiry,  red-brown  head,  with  the  hair  cut 
"Teddy  Bear",  or,  as  the  French  put  it  "en 
brosse",  was  poked  out  from  the  door  of  the 
nearest  cabin,  to  be  followed  promptly  by  its 
owner,  a  tall,  freckled  face  young  fellow,  bare 
footed  and  in  pajama  trousers  only,  his  lean 
body,  muscular  and  white  below  the  bronzed 
line  of  his  throat  and  reaching  in  a  sort  of  V 
down  his  breast,  flashing  cheerfully  in  the  sun- 
light that  sifted  through  the  great  pines.  He 
was  a  very  young  man  indeed,  in  his  earliest 
twenties,  and  just  how  he  had  managed  to  get 
an  A.  B.  and  an  M.  D.,  and  to  serve  a  whole 


38  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

year  as  an  intern  in  a  hospital,  before  getting 
his  commission,  was  one  of  the  Seven  Wonders 
of  the  U.  S.  Pubhc  Health  Service.  He  looked 
much  more  as  if  he  should  have  been  at  prep, 
school  somewhere  than  to  be  a  commissioned 
officer,  and  this,  added  to  his  really  tender 
years,  made  his  fellow  officers  call  him  "The 
Boy",  or  just  "Boy'',  when  they  did  not  call 
him  "Pepper" — a  fact  attributable  to  his 
freckled  face.  His  name  was  Theodore  Wil- 
liams Sloan,  known  at  home  as  Teddy,  from 
his  crisp  red  hair  as  well  as  an  abbreviation. 
He  was  quite  tall,  very  athletic,  and  was  the 
wag  of  the  camp. 

"Ah,  have  a  heart,  have  a  heart.  Cookie!" 
this  slightly  clad  individual  cried.  "That's 
just  an  awful  awakening  to  give  a  fellow!" 

The  scout  grinned. 

"Thought  you  said  *Boots  and  Saddles'  was 
such  a  pretty  old  tune,"  he  jibed,  leaning  com- 
fortably against  the  door  casing. 

"So  it  is  a  pretty  tune,  when  you  don't  have 
to  tumble  out  of  bed  to  it,"  Pepper  answered 
reproachfully.  "I'm  as  sleepy  as  anything. 
Had  a  beastly  night,  too.  Dr.  Neems  tossed 
about  from  one-thirty  on,  calling  most  fear- 
fully upon  the  name  of  one  Evelyn,  and  I  hope 
to  goodness  that  Evelyn  heard  him,  for  I  know 
I  did.  Then  Spot  got  to  laughing,  and  I  had 
to  sit  on  his  golden  head.  It  quieted  him  won- 
derfully, you  know.    I  was  ever  so  pleased  with 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  39 

the  result.  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  wake  the 
others,  to  say  nothing  of  my  august  self,  so 
very  early  in  the  morning,  my  dear  scout." 

"But  it's  not  early,  Dr.  Sloan,"  Billy  laughed 
back.  ''It's  as  late  as  anything,  nearly  quarter 
to  seven.  You  know  I'd  be  tickled  silly  if  I 
could  let  you  sleep,  and  I'd  tote  your  break- 
fast to  you,  at  Buttercup  cottage,  anytime, 
like  I  did  the  other  morning,  when  the  Chief 
was  at  Mobile." 

"Hold  on  there,  Cookie"  the  cheerful  Pep- 
per smiled,  "Since  when  has  my  official  resi- 
dence become  Buttercup  cottage? — It  used 
to  be  Spiders'-Rest  when  we  Assistant  Sur- 
geons occupied  it  to  ourselves.  Has  the  advent 
of  Surgeon  James  Montgomery  Neems  altered 
it?" 

"Oh,  no  sir,"  the  scout  answered  with  an- 
other grin.  "Dr.  Neems  hadn't  a  thing  to  do 
with  it,  honest.  But  you  see,  I've  swatted  all 
the  spiders,  so  it  would  be  just  silly  to  call  it 
Spiders'-Rest  any  more.  Anyhow,  I  found 
about  nine  buttercups  under  the  eastern  win- 
dow the  other  day,  so  I  thought  Buttercup 
cottage  was  as  good  a  name  as  another.  Had 
your  bath,  doctor?" 

"No,  not  yet,  but  I'll  race  down  to  the  swim- 
ming hole  and  be  back  by  the  time  you  have 
breakfast  on  the  table.  Couldn't  you  delay 
the  meal,  well,  say  for  about  ten  minutes, 
Billy?" 


40  THE  LONE  SCOUT      , 

"Sure  I  could/'  from  the  friendly  scout,  who 
was  greatly  attached  to  this  young  officer,  "TU 
see  you're  not  one  bit  late,  sir." 

*'You  are  a  good  little  sort,  Billy,"  Pepper 
flung  back  over  a  departing  shoulder,  "and 
something  of  a  brick,  too.  The  Chief  hates 
us  cubs  to  be  late,  he  is  so  distressingly 
punctual  himself." 

By  this  time  other  doors  were  opening  and 
the  occupants  of  other  cabins  began  to  stroll 
toward  a  large  oak,  beneath  which  the  officers' 
mess  ate  their  meals  in  good  weather,  and 
where  the  breakfast  table  was  already  set. 

"Morning,  Billy,"  called  another  young  As- 
sistant Surgeon,  by  name  Spotteswood  Wel- 
ford,  a  Virginia  boy,  and  already  alluded  to 
as  "Spot",  "Breakfast  ready?" 

"N-not  quite,  doctor,"  Billy  answered,  re- 
turning the  officer's  good-natured  salute  with 
his  scout's  one — three  fingers  of  his  right  hand 
touching  his  forehead  smartly,  the  thumb 
within  his  palm,  covering  the  little  finger,  sym- 
boHc  of  the  three  parts  of  the  Scout  Oath,  and 
the  knot  of  honor  that  ties  them  together).  As 
he  made  this  reply  he  blushed  guiltily,  with  a 
hasty  glance  down  the  path  that  led  from  the 
swimming  hole. 

"You  are  not  nearly  so  good  at  bluffing  as 
our  friend  Pepper,"  Dr.  Welford  smiled.  "You 
are  very  good  to  that  red  headed  scamp,  Billy. 
You  spoil  him." 


THE   LONE   SCOUT  41 

"But   he's   so   awful   nice,"   Billy   defended 
loyally.    "And  he  has  promised  me  a  bull  pup." 

"The  regulations  don't  allow  dogs  on  the 
reservations,  Billy,"  Dr.  Welford  smiled  again, 
"but  maybe  we  can  get  special  permission,  as 
this  isn't  exactly  a  reservation."  (Billy 
thought  of  the  "Deputy  Assistant  Instructor 
in  Military  Etiquette,"  and  giggled.)  "As  to 
Pepper  being  a  nice  chap,"  the  officer  contin- 
ued, "I  reckon  I  know  that  better  than  you. 
When  he  and  I  were  school  boys  together  at 
the  old  Episcopal  High  School,  near  Alexan- 
dria, he  was  over  three  years  my  junior,  though 
he  was  up  with  me  in  my  classes,  and  he  made 
me  do  every  thing  he  wished,  somehow.  He 
is  the  sweetest  tempered  boy  I  ever  knew,  and 
lots  of  fun  along  with  it,  and  I  believe  that  is 
the  reason  he  makes  every  fellow  he  meets 
love  him.  Here  he  comes,  now — tan  shoes, 
leather  leggins,  olive  drab  riding  breeches  and 
shirt,  and  all.  Even  got  his  bronze  U.  Ss. 
on  his  collar,  and  his  khaki  uniform  cap.  Looks 
nice,  and  awfully  fit,  don't  he,  Billy?" 

Of  the  two  officers.  Spot  had,  in  reality,  a 
far  handsomer  face,  but  nobody  ever  noticed 
it  as  they  did  the  other  man's — for  Pepper  was 
so  boyishly  exuberant  and  friendly,  while 
Spot  was  usually  grave. 

"Breakfast  not  ready  yet,  Billy?"  Pepper 
asked  innocently,  raising  his  voice  for  the 
benefit  of  old  Dr.  Iron,  who  was  pacing  an- 


42  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

grily  up  and  down  the  clearing.  "That  will 
never  do,  my  boy !  Hold  still,  child,  hold  still  !'* 
this  last  being  added  with  sudden  earnestness, 
very  real  now.  "There^s  a  mosquito  eating 
your  left  shoulder.  Hold  still,  I  tell  you,  like 
a  good  boy,  until  I  take  a  look  at  her  and 
classify  her." 

"Reckon  I  know  a  skeeter  is  biting  me,  Dr. 
Sloan,"  Billy  answered  with  some  bitterness, 
trying  to  hold  his  body  perfectly  still.  "How 
do  you  know  she's  a  lady,  though?" 

"She  wouldn't  be  eating  you,  if  she  weren't, 
my  son."  Pepper  laughed,  focusing  a  small 
reading  glass  on  the  boy's  bare  shoulder.  "It's 
simply  beautiful.  Spot,"  to  his  brother  officer. 
"I  never  gazed  upon  a  fairer — not  your 
shoulder,  Billy,  but  her  ladyship.  She's  an 
Anopheles  all  right.  See  how  she  stands  on 
her  head  and  waves  her  hind  legs  in  the  air,  at 
about  on  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  from  the 
boy's  skin.  Furthermore,  she's  a  Quad — the 
Chief's  pet  name  for  Anopheles  quadrima- 
culatus,  Master  Scout — because  I  can  see  the 
four  spots  on  her  wings  (some  of  them  have 
five  by-the-way).  I  can  see  them  just  as  plain 
as  anything.  She's  a  lovely  object,  Billy,  and 
any  Boy  Scout  should  be  proud  to  make  a 
breakfast  for  her." 

"Is  she  a  malaria  skeeter,  doctor?"  Billy 
asked,  squirming  a  bit,  for  his  skin  began  to 
itch  and  sting. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  43 

"Yes.  All  Anopheles  carry  malaria,  but  you 
needn't  worry  your  head  about  that,  old  fellow, 
for  the  three  grains  of  quinine  that  the  Chief 
makes  all  of  us  take  three  times  a  day  just  now, 
will  be  pretty  sure  to  keep  you  in  fighting  trim, 
I  think/' 

"You  know  a  lot  about  mosquitoes,  don't 
you?"  Billy  said  w4th  frank  admiration,  after 
he  had  received  permission  to  kill  "her  lady- 
ship". This,  he  remembered,  was  Public 
Health,  and  a  knowledge  as  vast  as  Pepper's 
would  be  sure  to  win  that  much  coveted  Merit 
Badge. 

"Not  nearly  as  much  as  I'd  like  to,"  the 
young  officer  smiled  down  at  the  boy.  "But 
any  fellow  picks  up  a  lot,  working  with  the 
Chief.  You  can't  help  yourself.  He  explains 
every  thing  so  nicely,  the  three  kinds  of  ma- 
laria mosquitoes,  for  instance.  Just  like  this, 
you  know.  Anopheles  quadrimaculatis  (like 
her  ladyship)  just  now,  with  four  or  five  spots 
on  her  wings.  The  Anopheles  punctipenis 
the  Chief  calls  them  Puncs,  by  the  way — with 
a  sort  of  yellow  *bite'  out  of  each  wing,  and 
the  Anopheles  crucians,  with  three  spots  on 
the  sixth  vein  of  their  wings.  You  need  a  glass 
to  distinguish  the  little  beggars,  except  that 
all  Anopheles  stand  on  their  heads  like  her 
ladyship,  when  they  bite,  and  other  mosquitoes 
sit  parallel  to  the  body." 


44  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"ril  never  remember  those  names,  you 
know,"  poor  Billy  sighed. 

"Oh  yes,  you  wilL  Use  the  Chiefs  pet 
names.  Quads,  four  or  five  spots  on  their 
v^ings.  Puncs,  with  a  yellow  bite  out  of  each 
wing.  Crucians,  three  spots  on  the  sixth  vein 
of  their  wings.  And  remember,  all  malaria 
mosquitoes  stand  on  their  heads^  ivith  their  hind 
legs  in  the  air,  when  they  bite  a  hoy.  Really  it's 
not  hard,  and  it  is  something  that  every  Boy 
Scout,  particularly  in  the  South,  should  know 
like  a  book." 

A  perfect  bellow  from  under  the  oak,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  mouth  of  Senior  Surgeon 
John  Iron,  a  tall,  fat  old  gentleman  with  white 
hair  and  an  energetically  bristling,  close  crop- 
ped mustache,  stopped  further  talk.  The  afore- 
said bellow  containing  the  information  that  it 
was  "high  time  and  over"  for  breakfast,  and 
this  opinion  sent  Billy  scurrying  for  his  kit- 
chen, while  the  cheerful  Pepper  and  the  solemn 
Spot  hastened  toward  the  table,  as  did  all  the 
others  that  were  at  Camp  Ross,  six  or  eight 
of  them. 

"Don't  wait  for  the  Chief,"  sang  out  Mr. 
HolHs  as  he  hurried  over  from  his  cabin,  khaki 
clad  but  without  the  physician's  insignia  on 
his  collar,  nor  the  grade  marks  on  his  sleeves, 
and  with  a  felt  campaign  hat  instead  of  their 
smart,  olive  drab  Service  caps,  with  the  tanned 
leather  chin  straps. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  45 

"And  pray  why  not,  Hollis?"  in  a  ponder- 
ous, grunting  voice  from  Dr.  Iron. 

"Just  because  he  said  not  to,  Iron,"  Mr. 
HoUis  responded  as  he  sat  down.  "Hope  Billy 
has  something  good  for  breakfast.  He  seemed 
fearfully  upset  last  night.  Heaven  and  the 
tribe  of  small  boys  alone  know  why.  I  say, 
Neems,  pass  me  the  sugar  and  milk,  like  a  good 
chap." 

"Here  you  are,  Hollis."  Surgeon  James 
Montgomery  Neems  replied — a  stout,  muscu- 
lar man  in  his  olive  drab  uniform,  wearing  his 
coat  (or  blouse  as  it  is  called)  and  with  his 
cap  on  the  back  of  his  rather  bald,  red  head, 
his  eyes  blinking  behind  very  thick  eye  glasses: 
"Better  than  the  evaporated  cream  we  had  at 
Ancon,  eh  Holhs?" 

"There  were  worse  things  in  Panama  than 
evaporated  cream,  Jimmy  Neems,"  Mr.  Hollis 
replied  darkly,  putting  sugar  and  cream  in  his 
cup,  preparatory  to  the  coffee  that  Billy,  now 
at  his  elbow,  poured  into  it. 

"Oh  tut,  tut,  Frank,"  Dr.  Neems  laughed 
shortly,  as  usual,  missing  the  Engineer's  point 
entirely ;  "You  are  always  thinking  of  the  row 
you  had  with  the  Alcalde  at  Colon." 

Frank  Hollis  laughed  good-naturedly 
enough. 

"Meaning  about  *the  naked  brown  babies  in 
Bolivar  Street/  as  'Panama  Patchwork'  puts 
it?"  he  asked. 


46  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"The  same,  my  boy,  the  same.  Glad  old 
Gilbert  found  poetry  in  them,  for  Fm  blamed 
if  I  ever  could,  nor  you  either,  Hollis,  from  the 
way  you  had  'em  scrubbed.  Speaking  of  those 
Bolivar  Street  babies,  though,  how  did  you  and 
your  school  children  up  at  Sago  Branch  come 
along,  Pepper?  I'd  have  given  fifty  dollars  to 
have  heard  your  maiden  speech  on  mosquito 
sanitation." 

"I'd  have  made  it  a  hundred,  myself."  Mr. 
Hollis  chimed  in  gleefully. 

"And  I'd  have  given  one  thousand  dollars, 
yes  sir,  one  thousand  dollars  not  to  have  heard 
it,"  in  strong  tones  from  old  Dr  John  Iron. 

Pepper,  otherwise  Teddy,  otherwise  Assis- 
tant Surgeon  Sloan,  dropped  his  brown  eyes  to 
the  table,  while  his  smooth,  freckled  face 
turned  a  deep  pink. 

"D-did  you  hear  it,  sir?"  he  asked,  as  shy 
as  a  guilty  small  boy. 

"Yes  I  did,"  the  old  gentleman  flung  back 
grumpily,  and  then  he  began  to  laugh:  "It 
was  too  funny,  Neems,"  he  chuckled  fatly, 
"Too  funny  for  anything!" 

"It  wasn't  any  fun  for  me,  sir."  Pepper 
flushed,  looking  both  young  and  sulky.  "I — I 
guess  I  did  the  very  best  I  could,  though.  The 
boys  were  all  right  enough,  but  the  girls !  Gee ! 
— Look  here,  fellows,  there — there  were  some 
big  girls  there,  and — and  they  laughed  'most 
all  the  time,  you  know." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  47 

"I  wonder  why  on  earth  they  did  that,  Pep- 
per?" Mr.  HolHs  asked  gravely,  and  the  whole 
officers'  mess  howled  with  joy. 

"Oh,  because — because  they  said  my — my 
uniform  was  pretty,"  the  youngest  officer 
blushed,  though  he  laughed  at  himself  with  the 
others. 

"Sure  that  that  was  all  the  big  girls  said, 
Pepper?"  Dr.  Iron  inquired  with  ponderous 
jocosity.  "Seems  to  me  you  are  leaving  out 
the  most  touching  part." 

"Oh,  but  please  don't !"  from  the  wretchedly 
embarrassed  Pepper. 

"Yes,  I  will,  though.  Master  Pepper.  You 
see,  gentlemen,  these  sunbonnetted  young 
ladies  on  Sago  Branch  said  they  thought  the 
uniform  was  pretty,  but  that  the  Service  boy 
in  it  was  prettier  still — 'cute' — was  the  exact 
word,  wasn't  it  Pepper?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  poor  Pepper  grinned 
sheepishly. 

"Must  have  been  uplifting  from  a  scientific 
standpoint.  Pepper."  Dr.  Neems  struck  in  with 
gusto,  while  Mr.  HoUis  expressed  the  opinion 
that  he  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  children  of 
Sago  Branch  were  greatly  edified. 

"It  was  the  best  I  knew  how  to  give  'em, 
scientifically,"  the  youngest  officer  defended 
stoutly.  Then  he  began  to  laugh.  "How 
would  you  feel  if  a  bunch  of  girls  were  giggling 
at  you,  Dr.  Neems?    Looking  at  you,  right  in 


48  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

your  face,  you  know,  all  the  time?  It  was  the 
awfuUest  feeling." 

"Oh,  Fm  used  to  girls  looking  at  me.  Pep- 
per," Jimmy  Neems  replied,  with  such  compla- 
cency that  the  mess  roared  again,  more  joy- 
ously than  ever. 

Gradually,  however,  the  men  one  by  one 
stopped  laughing,  those  who  commanded  a 
view  of  the  path  leading  from  the  swimming 
hole  stopping  first.  Then  they  rose  to  their 
feet,  rather  embarrassed  at  the  noise  they  had 
been  making,  and,  clicking  their  heels  together, 
saluted  with  sincere  respect  the  advancing 
form  of  their  "Chief",  Assistant  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral Ian  Whitlock. 


CHAPTER  V 

"And  I  called  him  a  fool  ...  oh  how  blind  was  I ! 

And  the  cup  of  my  grief's  abrim. 

Will  glory  o'  England  ever  die 

So  long  as  we've  lads  like  him? 

So  long  as  we've  fond  and  fearless  fools, 

Who,  spurning  fortune  and  fame, 

Turn  out  with  the  rallying  cry  of  their  schools, 

Just  bent  on  playing  the  game." 

ROBERT   SERVICE. 

"To  me  the  straighter  prison, 
To  me  the  heavier  chain. 

To  me,  Diego  Valdez, 
High  Admiral  of  Spain." 

RUDYARD   KIPLING. 

"Drake  sailed  these  seas  a  yesterday,^ 
Full  of  the  rapture  of  new  world  joys. 

Faith,  we  are  in  good  company. 

He,  the  Arch  Saint  of  us  Service  boys." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

"BUSTER" 

General  Whitlock,  after  returning  the  salute 
of  his  officers,  replaced  his  right  hand  on  the 
broad  shoulder  of  his  companion,  a  fresh  faced 
youngster    of    seventeen,    with    an    engaging 

49 


50  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

smile  and  a  lot  of  yellow  hair  swept  smoothly 
off  his  forehead  in  what  the  General,  his  father, 
called  his  "plume".  A  year  ago  he  had  been 
center  on  his  prep,  school  eleven.  He  was 
big  and  tall  for  his  age,  and  had  much  of  his 
great  father's  graciousness  of  manner,  though, 
added  to  it  was  a  shy  boyishness  that  had  a 
charm  all  its  own. 

Both  man  and  boy  were  in  the  olive  drab 
khaki  of  officers,  though  the  General,  like  Dr. 
Neems,  wore  his  blouse,  with  the  Eagles  on  the 
collar  to  show  his  rank,  while  the  boy,  of 
course,  was  without  any  insignia. 

Dr.  Whitlock  was  a  slight,  athletic  man,  a 
little  shorter  than  his  school  boy  son,  and  thin- 
ner, with  closely  trimmed,  iron  gray  hair  above 
a  tanned,  clean  shaven  face,  lean  and  very 
clever,  and  behind  the  tortoise-shell  rims  of 
his  eyeglasses,  with  their  long,  black  silk  cord, 
looked  out  a  pair  of  shrewd,  though  very  kind- 
ly, gray  eyes.  In  his  tight  fitting  field  uniform 
he  looked  quite  youthful,  in  spite  of  his  fifty- 
six  years. 

As  to  "Buster" — for,  though  his  real  name 
was  Robert,  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General's 
son  had  never  outgrown  his  small-boy  name- — 
he  worshipped  the  ground  the  General  trod  on, 
and  only  once  in  all  their  lives  had  they  ever 
had  anything  approaching  a  quarrel,  and  that 
had  been  in  the  June  of  1916,  a  year  before. 

While  with  his  father  at  the  U.  S.  Marine 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  51 

Hospital  at  Stapleton,  on  Staten  Island,  just 
after  school  had  closed,  Buster  had  gone  with 
him  to  his  club  in  New  York,  and  there  he  met 
Richard  Norton  and  his  brother  Elliot,  the 
former  in  charge  of  the  American  Volunteer 
Motor-Ambulance  Corps,  on  duty  "somewhere 
in  France",  the  latter  in  charge  of  the  organi- 
zation work  in  the  States.  These  two  charm- 
ing, quiet  men,  had  talked  much  with  the  Gen- 
eral over  their  after  dinner  cigars,  while  Bus- 
ter, wide  eyed  and  strangely  moved,  had  lis- 
tened in  silence  to  their  simple  accounts  of  the 
fine  work  of  their  corps  in  Europe,  of  wonder- 
ful duties  in  "No  Man's  Land,"  done  with  quiet 
steadiness,  while  the  ambulances  trembled  in 
the  shock  of  the  German  guns. 

After  they  were  back  at  the  station.  Buster 
asked  his  father  to  let  him  go  over  with  Rich- 
ard Norton  for  the  summer,  but  the  General 
naturally  refused. 

"But  ril  be  seventeen  in  August,  Dad,"  the 
boy  begged,  "and  Tm  ever  so  strong,  you 
know,  and — and  husky,  and  big  and  all  that. 
Lots  of  the  fellows  think  Tm  eighteen.  I  know 
right  much  about  a  machine,  too,  and — " 

But  the  General  shook  his  head,  though  he 
gave  Buster  full  credit  for  his  fineness  in  want- 
ing to  "do  his  bit".  Then  the  boy  got  stubborn, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  young  life,  and  a  little 
savage,  too,  and  said  he  would  go,  if  he  had  to 
run  away.    Whitlock  senior,  after  days  of  care- 


52  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ful  thought,  decided  that  he  would  have  to  do 
one  of  two  things;  either  lock  his  son  up  some- 
where and  guard  him,  with  the  chance  always 
of  his  getting  away,  or  let  him  go  over  for  the 
summer  in  a  proper  way,  sheltered  with  the 
General's  own  reputation,  and  under  Richard 
Norton's  sane  control.  He  was  worried  and 
distressed,  but  he  was  proud  of  the  boy,  too, 
and  at  last  he  gave  his  consent,  and  as  Buster 
passed  his  physical  examination  with  flying 
colors,  he  sailed  away  at  last,  bound  for  the 
French  port  of  Brest,  to  return  in  the  last  part 
of  October,  sun-browned,  glad  and  modestly 
proud  of  the  work  he  had  done  at  the  wheel 
of  the  American  Pierce-Arrow,  given  to  the 
corps  by  one  of  the  American  founders  of  the 
great  w^ar  hospital  at  Neuilly,  just  outside  of 
Paris.  He  also  brought  back  the  remains  of 
a  hole  in  the  flat  arch  of  his  tough  young 
stomach,  now  only  a  ragged  scar,  but  which 
had  invalided  him  home,  "]ust  in  time  for 
school,  you  know.  Dad,"  as  he  explained  with 
a  rueful  grin.  He  had  not  been  entirely  a  well 
boy  since. 

With  much  glee  he  told  his  father,  as  pleased 
as  himself,  if  not  more  so,  of  his  having  been 
one  of  the  convoy  that  received  the  distinction 
of  being  "cite"  before  the  Corps  d'Armee — the 
equivalent  to  giving  an  individual  the  Croix  de 
Guerre,  with  the  glorious  right  to  paint  that 
much  prized  distinction  on  his  car. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  53 

"And  I  used  a  paint  brush  for  the  first  time 
in  my  Hfe,  Dad/'  the  boy  exulted,  "and — well 
it  looked  right  nice,  a  good  deal  like  the  Croix 
de  Guerre,  anyhow.  I  was  the  one  kid  in  the 
crowd — lots  of  'em  in  the  trenches,  of  course, 
French  boys,  you  know — so  the  rest  said  that 
if  I  didn't  do  the  dirty  work  and  paint  that 
war  cross,  they'd  paint  me — and  they'd  have 
done  it,  too.  Charley  Penrose — he's  a  lean, 
leather-faced  old  chap  from  Baltimore — and 
Gee,  Dad,  his  glasses  are  'most  an  inch  thick — 
he  started  to  pull  off  my  shirt,  so  I  got  busy, 
I  can  tell  you.  He's  just  the  sort  to  paint  a 
boy's  skin  for  a  lark.  He  was  always  ever  so 
good  to  me,  Dad.  When  I  got  that  ball  right 
in  the  pit  of  my  stomach,  and  when  I  was  so 
sick  I  was  green,  he  carried  me  pick-a-back  to 
the  little  old  Ford  (not  crazy  about  'em  for 
ambulances,  myself,  none  of  us  were)  and  was 
as  good  and  gentle  to  me  as  you  would  have 
been,  and  rode  with  me  all  the  way  in  to  the 
nearest  poste  de  secour,  and  got  a  Croix  de 
Guerre  for  his  very  own.  Gave  me  some  of 
the  dandiest  Edam  cheese,  once.  Gee,  but  it 
was  good !  We  ate  it  with  some  soggy  crack- 
ers, we  and  a  brancardier,  sitting  on  the 
smashed  up  wheel  of  a  caisson,  somewhere  be- 
tween Dead  Man's  Corner  and  Shell  Street. 
That  cheese  was  about  the  best  thing  I  ever 
ate.  Honest  it  was.  It  was  splendid  work, 
Dad,  though  I'll  own  up  I  used  to  get  scared 


54  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

sometimes,  and  those  other  fellows  in  our  Con- 
voy were  just  wonderful,  and  spunky!  Oh, 
my!  It  was  wonderful,  specially  old  Charley. 
He,  and  a  little  poilu  whom  we  called  Toto, 
could  find  more  good  things  in  the  way  of  eats 
than  anybody  else — and  we  never  asked  where 
they  got  'em,  either.  'Leave  it  to  old  Haws- 
khaw.  Buster,'  he  would  say  to  me,  looking  so 
solemn  you'd  never  think  he  was  joking,  'and 
he  will  detect  food  for  your  youthful  tummy. 
Venez  a  moi,  Watso,'  that  was  his  name  for  the 
poilu  at  such  times  (after  the  pictures  in  the 
funny  paper,  you  know  Dad).  'Buster  wishes 
food.  Oh,  la!  la!  We  it  at  once  get.  Not?' 
and  he'd  get  it,  too." 

No  wonder  then,  after  all  this,  that  Dr. 
Whitlock  rejoiced  at  having  his  son  with  him, 
and  when  the  youngster's  health  forced  him  to 
leave  school  in  February,  neither  the  father 
nor  the  son  felt  much  regret  at  it,  and  Buster 
had  seen  too  much  of  real  suffering  on  the 
Verdun  front  not  to  know  now  how  to  be  pa- 
tient in  his  own  pain,  so  that  he  improved  very 
well  when  once  back  with  the  General  in 
Washington,  and  both  decided  that,  even  in 
this  summer's  field  work,  they  would  stick 
close  together. 

No  wonder,  also,  that  Scout  Billy  Hoover 
should  be  in  a  constant  state  of  exalted  hero- 
worship,  divided  more  or  less  equally  between 
his  great   Chief,  who  had   served   the  round 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  55 

world  over,  and  his  yellow  headed,  pleasant 
son,  who  laughed  and  sky-larked  with  him,  or 
with  the  younger  officers,  even  when  he  was 
lying,  rather  pale,  in  a  hammock — always  jolly 
and  full  of  healthy,  boyish  fun,  and  always 
good  and  kind  and  dependable,  like  the  Chief 
himself. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"Author : — Hey !  hey !  What  the  deuce  is  all  this  ?  Why, 
'tis  Ercles'  vein,  and  it  would  require  some  one  much 
more  like  Hercules,  than  I,  to  produce  a  story  which 
would  gush  and  glide,  and  never  pause,  and  visit,  and 
widen,  and  deepen,  and  all  the  rest  on't.  I  should  be  chin 
deep  in  the  grave,  man,  before  I  had  done  with  my  task  ; 
and  in  the  mean  while,  all  the  quirks  and  quiddities  which 
I  might  have  devised  for  my  reader's  amusement,  would 
lie  rotting  in  my  gizzard,  like  Sancho's  suppressed  wit- 
icism,  when  he  was  under  his  master's  displeasure. — 
There  was  never  a  novel  written  on  this  plan  while  the 
world  stood." 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

"And  then  he  laughed  his  dear  old  laugh. 
And  winked  his  dear  old  wicked  eye: 

'It's  just  my  joke,  my  fun,  my  chaff, 
Boys  want  me  bold  and  bad,  not  I !'  " 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  FOLLY  QUARTERS 

The  upper  heading  to  this  chapter  reminds 
me,  rather  grimly,  that  I  have  strayed  away  a 
bit  from  my  story — though  I  am  not  so  sure 
about  that,  either,  for  I  want  you  youngsters 
to  know  the  stuff  of  which  the  Service  is  made 
— The  boys  manly,  self-reliant,  modest  boys, 

56 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  57 

and  the  men  manly,  ever  ready  fellows, 
schooled  in  the  hard  life  of  much  work  (very, 
very  great  work  from  a  humanitarian  stand- 
point) small  pay  and  smaller  recognition. 
Like  KipUng's  account  of  ''Her  Majesty's 
Jollies",  they  are  ''soldier  and  sailor,  too",  on 
revenue  cutters,  sanitating  military  camps 
for  our  Government,  doing  surgery  in  the 
Marine  Hospitals,  lent  to  Russia  in  Cholera 
times  at  Libau,  on  duty  in  Yokahama,  or 
Naples,  ridding  South  America  of  its  bondage 
to  Yellow  Fever,  the  PhiHppines  of  its  Bubonic 
Plague,  and  giving  up  their  home  happiness 
(home  is  an  almost  unknown  word  in  the 
Public  Health  Service)  and  often  enough  their 
lives,  so  that  other  men,  in  this  and  in  distant 
countries,  may  live,  and  alw^ays  modest  and 
quiet  about  it  all,  with  the  true  spirit  that  their 
Service  inculcates. 

And  now,  with  your  kind  leave,  we  will  re- 
turn to  the  breakfast  table  at  Camp  Ross. 

"Here  is  your  chair  waiting  for  you,  Gen- 
eral," was  the  ingratiating  salutation  of  Dr. 
Neems,  showing  a  finely  shaded  mixture  of 
good-fellowship  and  ardent  respect,  which 
called  forth  a  growling  whisper  from  old  Dr. 
Iron  in  which  the  only  distinguishable  words 
were  "Humbug"  and  "Official  toady". 

"Glad  of  it,  Neems,"  the  Assistant  Surgeon 
General  smiled,  seating  himself  opposite  Dr. 
Iron,  at  the  head  of  the  table.     "Fm  hungry. 


58  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

I've  been  up  Bull  Creek  as  far  as  Sago  Branch, 
and  I  find  any  number  of  breeding  places  for 
Anopheles,  and  larvae  a-plenty.  I  crossed  the 
divide  to  the  Folly  Quarters,  and  Heavens  and 
Earth!  over  on  the  Big  Bear  River,  almost  in 
front  of  that  beautiful  old  house,  a  bit  to  the 
left,  is  a  cistern  of  the  most  awful  antiquity, 
of  an  age  with  the  Gainsborough  and  Kneller 
portraits  within,  I  guess,  and  packed  with 
larvae  and  mosquitoes  in  every  stage  of  de- 
velopment.    Awful,  wasn't  it  Buster?" 

"And  then  some.  Dad,"  in  cheerful  reply 
from  the  boy.  "Honestly,  Dr.  Neems,  I  never 
saw  such  a  lot  of  wiggle-tails  in  my  life.  And 
as  Dad  says,  the  eggs  were  ever  so  thick,  worst 
bunch  of  larvae  going,  I  bet." 

"Buster  bears  me  out,  you  see,"  the  General 
laughed.  Then  to  the  boy,  "Buster,  sit  down 
and  have  your  breakfast.  That  stomach  of 
yours  must  be  woefully  empty."  And  he  laid 
one  hand  invitingly  on  the  chair  at  his  left. 

"Not  right  now,  Dad,"  Buster  smiled  back. 
"Tm  going  to  lend  our  official  Cookie  a  hand." 
And  he  raced  off  to  the  kitchen,  a  murmur  of 
admiration,  voiced  by  Dr.  Jimmy  Neems,  fol- 
lowing in  his  wake. 

It  was  said  in  Service  circles  that  Dr.  Neems 
was  in  a  constant  fervor  of  admiration  over 
every  thing  that  his  superior  did,  or  said,  or 
owned,  and  that  the  General's  shoes,  as  well 
as  the  General's  young  son,  were  objects  of  his 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  59 

groveling  adoration — the  cynical  Pepper, 
speaking  for  the  younger  officers,  giving  the 
opinion  that  the  shoes  rather  got  the  best  of  it, 
Dr.  Neems  having  some  ambitious  thoughts 
of  wearing  them  himself  some  bright  day  in 
the  future. 

"Yay,  Billikin!"  Buster  called  as  he  shot  into 
the  kitchen.  "Dad  v^ants  some  hot  cakes. 
My,  but  they  smell  good !  If  we'd  had  you  at 
Verdun  we'd  have  voted  you  a  Croix  d'Hon- 
neur,  and  you  could  have  sported  the  little  red 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  in  your  button  hole." 

"What  would  I  have  done  with  it  now, 
then?"  Billy  grinned.  "Undershirts  don't  have 
button  holes.  Buster." 

"Right  you  are,  my  son,"  Buster  flung  back 
laughingly,  "So  it's  just  as  well  that  you 
weren't  there.  Now  trot  out  those  cakes  to 
Dad,  and  I'll  fry  some  for  myself." 

"Oh,  Buster!"  from  the  scout,  "Don't  you 
worry  about  that.  That's  my  work.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  second  and  cook  you  up  all  the  batter 
cakes  you  can  eat." 

"Oh,  get  out,  Billy  Hoover!"  Buster  grinned 
widely,  "I  fried  cakes  before  you  were  born. 
You've  got  a  lot  too  much  to  do,  anyhow.  Dad 
was  talking  about  it  this  morning.  He  wants 
you  to  quit  this  galley  for  the  rest  of  to-day, 
and  come  over  with  Pepper  Sloan  and  me  to 
the  Folly  Quarters  to  see  about  draining  a  cis- 


6o  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

tern.  You'll  like  that,  won't  you?  We'll  see 
Wardy." 

"You  just  bet  I  will!"  the  scout  answered 
with  fervor,  and  dashed  out  of  the  door  with  a 
plate  of  cakes. 

Left  alone  for  a  moment.  Buster  poured 
some  of  the  smooth  batter  onto  the  griddle, 
and  then  sent  his  eyes  over  the  table,  where 
they  promptly  fell  upon  "The  First  Hundred 
Thousand." 

"Hul-lo!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked  the 
book  up.  "Haven't  seen  you  for  three  months. 
Bet  I  remember  two  thirds  of  you,  though. 
You're  such  a  jolly  old  fellow,  you  know!" 
then,  idly  glancing  at  the  first  page,  he  read 
and  a  pleased,  quick  smile  crossed  his  face, 
the  statement  in  Billy's  round,  school-boy 
hand,  to  the  effect  that  the  book  was  "For  Bus- 
ter, to  wish  him  many  happy  returns,"  etc., 

"Now  that's  mighty  nice  of  the  kid,"  he  said; 
"and  I  mustn't  let  him  know  I've  seen  the  book. 
He's  the  right  sort,  is  our  Cookie." 

He  shoved  the  book  under  a  newspaper,  and 
as  he  did  so,  Billy  returned. 

After  breakfast,  in  spite  of  the  scout's  pro- 
testations to  the  contrary.  Buster  helped  him 
to  "wash  up",  and  so,  by  the  time  that  Pep- 
per Sloan  sauntered  up,  they  were  nearly  ready 
for  him,  the  only  cause  of  delay  being  the 
couple  of  minutes  it  took  Billy  to  slip  into  his 
scout  shirt,  after  which  the  three  set  out  up 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  6i 

a  path  by  the  creek,  soon  to  cut  across  country 
for  the  Big  Bear  river  and  the  Folly  Quarters. 

By  the  time  they  had  climbed  the  divide  be- 
tween the  two  water  sheds,  they  were  all  very 
hot,  and  the  prospect  of  the  cool  shade  at  the 
Folly  Quarters  lent  wings  to  their  dusty  feet, 
so  that  when  they  at  last  cut  across  a  field  of 
pink  clover  and  came  in  sight  of  the  house. 
Pepper  let  out  a  cheer. 

It  was  a  very  lovely  place,  the  Folly  Quar- 
ters. The  big  Georgian  house,  with  its  bricks 
brought  over  from  England  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, was  at  the  edge  of  the  sixteen-hundred 
acre  plantation,  the  grounds  sloping  down  to 
the  river  in  a  series  of  three  terraces,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  was  a  small  boat-landing,  set 
among  willows,  their  pale  green  sprays  just 
sweeping  the  brown,  leaf  be-speckled  water. 
It  was  a  three  storied  house,  the  upper  floor 
being  in  "dormer"  style,  and  the  facings  were 
of  white  marble,  with  slender,  Ionic  columns 
supporting  the  roof  of  the  porch.  Above  the 
fan  shaped  glass  over  the  double  doors  at  the 
front,  and  on  the  very  top  of  the  house  itself, 
were  carved  wooden  pineapples,  dating  back 
to  the  quaint  colonial  symbol  of  welcome.  To 
one  side  stretched  meadow  after  meadow,  and 
at  the  other  side  was  the  big,  old  fashioned 
flower  garden,  set  among  thick  hedges  of  Eng- 
lish boxwood,  all  closely  clipped,  as  was  the 
velvety  grass  of  the  yard.      Young  Warfield 


^2  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Brown  had  not  a  lazy  bone  in  his  small,  com- 
pact body,  and  in  spite  of  his  few  years,  he 
loved  his  home  as  only  a  southern  plantation 
boy  can,  and  he  worked  from  half  past  four  in 
the  morning  to  sunset,  so  that  it  might  look 
pretty. 

As  he  was  expecting  their  visit,  he  came 
down  the  wide,  shallow  steps  to  meet  them, 
dressed  in  an  old,  carefully  brushed  Norfolk 
jacket  of  blue  serge,  the  collar  hidden  by  the 
wide,  soft  roll  of  the  collar  of  his  white  sport 
shirt,  thrown  wide  open  in  front  over  his 
breast.  He  also  wore  white  duck  knickers,  his 
only  pair,  carefully  laundered  for  the  occasion 
by  Mammy  Lou,  and  his  bare  legs  and  feet 
were  scrubbed  aggressively  clean,  if  somewhat 
brown  and  scratched. 

He  shook  hands  all  round,  a  little  flushed  and 
breathless  with  the  doctor,  who  rumpled  his 
tow  head  Hke  the  big,  good-natured  boy  he 
was,  but  Wardy  spoke  to  him  with  a  shy  dig- 
nity that  showed  him  at  his  very  best.  With 
Buster  he  was  cordial  and  frankly  admiring, 
while  upon  Billy  he  bestowed  a  most  friendly 
grin.  A  very  different  boy  from  the  dusty, 
dirt  smudged  youngster  in  overalls  and  an  old 
felt  hat,  who  had  been  at  Camp  Ross  the  after- 
noon before. 

"Cousin  Byrd  is  in  the  study,  suh,"  he  said 
to  the  doctor,  referring  to  his  guardian,  "and 
he's  not  feeling  very  well,  so  he  asked  me  to 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  63 

invite  you  inside.  You  fellows  want  to  come 
in,  too,  or  will  you  wait  for  me  out  on  the 
porch?  I've  got  the  cutest  white  rabbit  over 
in  the  stables  that  you  ever  saw.  His — his 
name's — Buster,"  and  he  blushed  and  grinned 
apologetically  up  at  the  Assistant  Surgeon 
General's  son. 

The  boys  laughed,  and  decided  to  wait  on 
the  cool  porch,  so  Warfield  led  the  doctor 
through  a  great,  oak  paneled  hallway,  with  a 
ceiling  that  went  to  the  very  top  of  the  house, 
in  a  sort  of  rotunda,  and  containing  a  winding 
staircase  of  carved  wood  that  was  the  most 
perfect  thing  of  the  sort  that  the  young  man 
had  ever  seen,  through  a  doorway  hung  with 
curtains  of  faded  green  brocade,  and  into  the 
study,  a  big  room,  the  walls  lined  with  books. 
The  small  paned  windows  were  wide  open, 
and  a  breeze  from  the  river  billowed  the  cur- 
tains of  white  muslin  into  the  room,  but  in 
spite  of  that  the  interior  was  rather  dark,  so 
the  doctor  stood  on  the  threshold,  looking 
about  him  a  little  uncertainly,  from  the  soft 
reflections  in  the  polished  floor,  to  the  dim  out- 
line of  a  most  delightful  oil  portrait,  life  size. 
It  was  of  a  young  boy,  tow  headed  and  plump 
like  Warfield,  and  dressed  as  a  French  Pierrot, 
in  baggy,  pajama-like  clothes  of  white  linen, 
with  red  spots  all  over  them,  and  three  huge 
red  buttons  down  the  front  of  the  jacket.  He 
had  a  stiff,  close  fitting  Elizabethan  ruff  about 


64  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

his  short  neck,  and  a  black  skull  cap  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  quite  rakishly  over  the  left 
ear,  too.  The  very  mischievousness  of  the 
rather  tanned  face  v^as  an  almost  exact  repro- 
duction of  his  young  host. 

A  low,  jolly  little  chuckle  from  Warfield 
made  the  man  look  up. 

"Here's  Cousin  Byrd,  suh,"  he  said,  leading 
the  doctor  forward. 

Seated  before  a  great,  flat  topped  table,  of 
very  old  rosewood,  in  a  deep  leather  armchair, 
was  a  tall,  very  thin  old  man,  with  such  an  evil, 
waxey  hued  face,  clean  shaven,  harsh,  and 
most  awfully  clever  that  Pepper  promptly 
wished  himself  any  where  but  at  the  Folly 
Quarters.  But  when  the  old  gentleman  spoke, 
there  was  another  surprise,  for  his  voice  was 
soft,  and  cultured  and  very  lovely. 

"Cousin  Byrd,"  Warfield  said,  raising  his 
voice  just  a  little,  and  looking  straight  at  the 
old  man,  "This  is  Dr.  Sloan,  one  of  the  officers 
from  over  at  Camp  Ross,  you  know,  suh.  Dr. 
Sloan,  this  is  my  guardian,  Mr.  Byrd  Raven- 
elle." 

Gathering  the  folds  of  a  handsome,  quilted 
dressing  gown  of  dark  blue  silk  about  his  lean 
figure,  the  old  gentleman  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
held  out  one  hand. 

"I  am  so  very  glad  to  meet  you,  doctor,"  he 
said  graciously.  "You  must  touch  my  hand 
first,  for  I  am  quite  bhnd." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  65 

"Oh,  Vm  so  sorry!"  Pepper  blurted  out,  very 
boyishly,  and  the  next  moment  he  could  have 
bitten  off  his  own  tongue,  for  the  remark  made 
him  feel  woefully  young. 

"That  is  a  kind,  pleasant  thing  for  you  to 
say,  doctor,"  Byrd  Ravenelle  said  in  his  lovely 
old  voice,  and  with  a  smile  that  sent  cold  chills 
down  young  Pepper's  tough  back.  "I  appre- 
ciate it  because,  well,  because  your  voice 
showed  me  that  you  really  were  sorry,  my  boy. 
You  must  forgive  me  but  you  are  just  a  boy 
to  me,  almost  as  much  of  a  boy  as  my  dear 
Warfield.  Come  closer  to  me,  Wardy — that  is 
my  pet  name  for  him,  doctor — and  let  me  see 
you  with  my  hands." 

His  body  held  very  straight,  his  abdomen 
rising  and  falling,  boy-like,  in  quick  little  pants, 
and  with  a  slight  flush  on  his  face,  not  as  if  he 
were  embarrassed,  but  scared,  Warfield  walk- 
ed at  once  to  the  old  man's  side,  and  the  doc- 
tor noticed  a  slight  shiver  pass  over  the  sturdy 
body  as  Mr.  Ravenelle's  small  hands  passed 
over  the  bare  chest  and  throat,  and  at  last 
rested  against  the  youngster's  cheek. 

Warfield  noticed  the  quick  lift  of  Pepper's 
eyebrows,  a  trick  that  youthful  officer  had 
when  surprised,  and  he  at  once  lifted  one  of 
his  own  work  toughened  hands  and  laid  it 
gently  over  his  guardian's,  his  skin  rather 
pinker  than  before. 

"He  is  a  good  boy,  doctor,"  Mr.  Ravenelle 


66  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

said  with  his  crooked  smile,  "and  we  love  each 
other  like  father  and  son.  We  only  have  each 
other  to  love,  eh  Wardy?" 

"Yes,  suh,"  in  a  low  voice  from  the  boy. 
"I — I  left  General  Whitlock's  son  and — and 
another  boy,  outside,  Cousin  Byrd.  May  I  go 
out  and  play — I  mean,  may  I  go  out  to  them?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear,"  from  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  Pepper  noticed  at  once  the  relief  on 
the  boy's  face  as  he  trotted  from  the  room.  His 
whoop  once  outside  in  the  yard,  was  as  jolly 
as  a  boy's  could  be.  Then  the  two  men  sat 
down,  and  the  doctor  explained  about  the 
cistern. 

"Why,  of  course  it  must  be  attended  to,  doc- 
tor," was  the  prompt  response.  "It  is  a  favor 
to  let  us  know  of  such  things,  for  with  our  lack 
of  your  technical  knowledge,  we  might  pass 
them  over.  One  of  my,  I  should  say  one  of 
Warfield's,  tenants,  is  supposed  to  attend  to 
such  things,  but  he  is  an  idle,  worthless  crea- 
ture, is  Henry  Bode.  We  are  to  be  rid  of  him 
very  shortly,  however,  very  shortly  indeed.  If 
my  poor  boy's  estate  was  not  incumbered,  I 
would  gladly  spend  any  amount  of  money  on 
its  proper  sanitation.  We  are  a  rough,  crude 
people,  down  here,  my  dear  doctor,  but  indeed 
we  mean  well  by  our  fellow  men,  I  assure  you." 

He  looked  and  spoke  so  smoothly  and 
suavely  as  he  said  this,  that  the  discomforted 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  67 

Pepper    greatly   doubted    his    roughness    and 
crudity. 

So  they  talked  on  for  awhile,  but  as  the  old 
gentleman,  though  always  courteous,  seemed 
to  be  very  tired,  the  young  officer  rose  to  go. 

''I  nearl}^  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Ravenelle," 
he  said  suddenly,  ''that  the  Chief,  General 
Whitlock,  I  mean,  asked  me  particularly  to 
tell  you  that  he  would  have  come  to  see  you  in 
person  about  this  sanitary  business,  only  he 
had  to  go  to  Washington,  under  telegraphic 
orders,  this  morning.  He  also  said  to  tell  you 
that  he  should  be  glad  to  have  one  of  the  order- 
lies at  Camp  Ross  stop  by  for  your  outgoing 
mail  each  day,  if  you  wished.  He  doesn't  like 
to  use  the  Dolittle  postoffice,  since  that  rob- 
bery, so  we  got  a  wire  from  the  Postmaster 
General  this  morning,  in  reply  to  one  he  sent 
last  night,  authorizing  us  to  open  a  post  office 
of  our  own  at  the  camp."  and,  with  a  rather 
shy  laugh,  "I'm  postmaster." 

"Now  that  is  awfully  kind  of  the  General," 
Mr.  Ravenelle  smiled,  at  once  producing  fresh 
chills  all  over  the  body  of  poor  Pepper,  "and 
I  appreciate  it  immensely,  particularly  from  a 
man  like  General  Whitlock.  Still  I  have  no- 
ticed that  those  great  men,  the  really  great 
ones,  always  think  of  the  smallest  details. 
Since  you  mention  it,  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
accept  the  offer  gladly,  for,  just  between  our- 
selves, (pardon  a  sick  old  fellow's  confidence) 


68  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

I  feel  very  strongly  about  this  robbery  at  Do- 
little.  I — well,  to  be  quite  frank,  there  was  a 
small  mortgage  on  this  place,  that  is  small  to 
anyone  but  Wardy  and  me,  and  I  sent  the 
money  to  clear  it,  to  Senator  Cubb.  I  have  the 
receipt,  for  I  sent  it  in  ten  one  hundred  dollar 
bills,  registered,  instead  of  by  check,  and  the 
letter  was  among  those  that  were  stolen,  in 
the  Washington  bag. 

"Oh,  that's  awfully  tough,  sir,"  Pepper  be- 
gan earnestly,  but  the  old  gentleman  laughed 
softly. 

"You  are  delightful,  doctor,"  he  said  smooth- 
ly, "as  fresh  as  a  nice  boy  like  you  should  be. 
But  I  assure  you,  my  dear  fellow,  it  might  be 
worse,  it  really  might.  If  Warfield  and  I  had 
been  dealing  with  a  hard  man,  things  would  be 
different,  but  Jonas  Cubb  is  as  soft  hearted  as 
he  is  fat,  a  really  dear  old  fellow,  and  he  wired 
back  in  answer  to  my  telegram  to  him  at 
Washington,  that  we  must  not  worry,  for  he 
would  not  think  of  foreclosing  until  we  had 
given  the  federal  authorities  ample  time  to 
catch  the  thief.  You  see,  therefore,  that  I  have 
good  reason  to  be  glad  to  accept  the  General's 
offer.  Poor  little  Warfield  is  a  pugnacious 
urchin,  and  he  was  in  a  great  rage  about  it  all 
last  night.  I  quieted  him  after  a  while,  though 
I  could  not  blame  him  for  being  distressed,  for 
the  money  was  really  his,  as  is  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  the  Folly  Quarters." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  69 

"Well,  I  bet  they  catch  that  thief,  sir,"  Pep- 
per cried  truculently. 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  I  cannot  allow  myself  to 
doubt  it,  you  see,"  Mr.  Ravenelle  answered, 
gazing  steadily  at  the  young  fellow  out  of  his 
sightless  eyes.  'Good-bye,  my  dear  doctor.  I 
hope  you  and  any  of  the  other  officers  at  Camp 
Ross,  will  make  the  Folly  Quarters  a  sort  of 
bachelors'  hall  while  you  are  in  South  Carolina. 
You  will  be  always  most  welcome,  I  assure 
you,"  and  sinking  back  in  his  deep  seated  chair 
he  waved  one  small  hand  pleasantly  at  the 
doctor,  smiling  his  crooked  smile. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  room,  repressing 
a  desire  to  run,  Pepper  w^as  startled  by  a  faint, 
malignantly  evil  chuckle,  but  it  couldn't  have 
been  from  the  old  gentleman,  for  he  was  lying 
back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  closed. 

"That — that  was  me  you  heard  laugh,"  came 
the  voice  of  young  Warfield  at  his  elbow.  "I — 
I  do  that  sort  of  thing  sometimes,  you  see. 
Cousin  Byrd,  he — he  is  just  always  getting 
after  me  about  giggling  when  I  ought  not  to, 
but  I — maybe  I  can't  help  it.  That — that  was 
me  you  heard  laugh,  doctor.  H-hon-est !"  and 
he  scratched  his  tow  head  nervously,  a  scared, 
worried  look  on  his  round,  healthy  young  face. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"When  the  Tower  o'  Babel  had  mixed  up 

men's  bat, 
Some  clever  civilian  was  managing  that ! — 
Not  one  of  the  Royal  Engineers, 
Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineers, 
With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper." 

RUDYARD   KIPLING. 

"And  I  wish  I  was  back  on  my  cutter  again, 
I  would  give  all  a  full  surgeon's  wealth — 

To  be  killing  mosquitoes,  or  out  on  the  main. 
With  the  'Live  Ones'  that  do  Public  Health !" 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

WHICH  IS  ALL  ABOUT  WORK 

"If  a  hungry  ant,  in  search  of  a  breakfast, 
should  come  across  the  brains  of  some  of  the 
sanitary  Engineers  of  the  Service  that  I  hap- 
pen to  know,  he  would  pass  them  by  as  a  mor- 
sel unworthy  of  his  notice,  and  would  go  in- 
dustriously in  quest  of  the  dried  hind  leg  of 
an  Anopheles." 

Thus  speaks  our  freckled  friend,  Pepper 
Sloan,  as  he  glares  over  the  clearing  at  Camp 
Ross. 

It  is  a  couple  of  weeks  later,  and  July  is  well 
advanced,  and  Camp  Ross  has  been  thrown, 

70 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  71 

quite  suddenly,  into  a  state  of  consternation 
and  confusion,  energetic,  bewildering  and  very 
thorough.  A  deep  ditch  is  being  dug  for  drain- 
age, to  empty  the  little  pools  that  stand  in  some 
low  ground  near-by,  marked  by  Mr.  Hollis  as  a 
breeding  place  for  the  festive  malaria  mosqui- 
to, and  nobody  seems  able  to  cross  it.  People 
are  constantly  falling  into  it  and,  once  in,  they 
seem  at  some  difficulty  in  getting  out.  There 
is  much  mud,  much  sarcasm,  and  a  little 
swearing. 

A  very  dirty  young  man,  who  in  brighter 
times  is  a  sanitary  "dipper" — that  is  he  goes 
about  after  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General, 
dipping  up  mosquito  larvae  in  a  tin  receptacle, 
— but  now  busy  with  a  pick-axe,  scowls  upon 
another  man,  armed  with  a  long  handled 
shovel,  and  inquires  what  sort  of  a  blithering, 
double-barrelled  fool  survey  Hollis  expects  to 
carry  out  now.  The  man  wath  the  shovel, 
speaking  from  the  bottom  of  the  ditch,  gives  it 
as  his  opinion  that  "somebody  higher  up"  had 
better  try  digging  in  this  blamed  clay,  and  just 
see  how  his  hands  feel.  He  exhibits  certain 
blisters  on  his  own  hands,  and  the  sight  of 
them  makes  him  very,  very  angry.  Then  a  big, 
curly  haired  young  man,  very  muddy  as  to 
shoes  and  leggings,  and  much  excited,  comes 
up  to  them,  waving  his  arms,  and  informs  them 
both  that  what  he  says  goes,  and  furthermore, 


^2  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

that  if  anybody  wishes  to  know  who  is  bossing 
this  job,  they  had  better  just  start  something. 

The  Hvely  Pepper  now  takes  a  hand,  and 
pours  a  quantity  of  metaphorical  oil  on  the  fire, 
by  remarking  very  clearly  that  if  he  falls  into 
that  silly  ditch  once  more,  he  will  be  only  too 
glad  to  comply  with  the  curly-head*s  request, 
and  will  start  something  "right'\  His  smooth 
jaw  squares  very  perceptibly  as  he  says  it,  too. 
Then  Buster  and  Dr.  Jimmy  Neems  appear  on 
the  scene,  their  hands  deep  in  their  pockets, 
and  laugh  immensely  at  the  others,  which  quite 
maddens  them,  after  which  the  two  aforesaid 
return  to  the  cabin  that  is  known  as  the  Exe- 
cutive Building,  deep  on  some  work  of  their 
own.  Much  sarcasm,  of  a  biting  nature,  is 
now  tossed  from  both  sides  of  the  ditch,  the 
man  with  the  shovel,  and  he  of  the  pick,  at 
once  allying  themselves,  soul  and  body,  to  the 
young  engineer.  Finally  Pepper,  more  pugna- 
cious than  ever  since  their  desertion  to  the 
other  side,  voices  his  remark  about  the  hun- 
gry ant,  whereupon  the  curly  one  advances 
upon  him — and  tumbles  into  the  ditch.  This 
at  once  puts  every  one  else  in  the  best  humor 
possible,  and  Pepper  helps  him  out  quite  mag- 
nanimously. 

"I  say.  Lake,"  he  says  with  a  grin,  "Here's 
a  letter  for  you.  See?  Mr.  Lake  W.  White, 
just  as  plain!" 

The  letter  is  from  a  young  lady  in  Boston, 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  73 

dear  to  the  heart  of  the  sanitary  engineer 
since  his  days  at  the  "Tech",  so  it  is  received 
with  enthusiasm,  and  the  recipient  becomes 
very  gracious. 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Postmaster,"  he  says,  blush- 
ing a  little.  "This  is  great.  Fifth  one  in  six 
days.  I — "  but  he  stops  short,  for  Mr.  Hollis 
is  sighted  swinging  over  the  clearing  in  khaki 
shirt  and  riding  breeches,  a  pipe  in  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  and  humming  dolefully: 

"  'Oh,  the  Isthmus,   oh,  the  Isthmus, 

How  we  love  its  sunny  clime! 
M'laria  and  Yellow  Fever, 

Skeeter  oil — sulphate  quinine.'  " 

He  is  quite  cheerful,  his  song  to  the  contrary, 
and  he  doesn't  fall  into  the  ditch,  which  is  felt 
to  be  a  personal  affront  to  every  one  else. 

"That's  not  deep  enough.  White,"  he  says 
briskly.      Then,  to  Pepper,  "Where's  Billy?" 

"He's  entertaining  a  guest,  sir,"  Pepper  re- 
plied. 

"Wardy,  eh?  Good!  Chief  back  from 
Miami  yet?" 

"Yes,  he  is,"  from  Pepper,  still  eyeing  the 
ditch  wistfully.  "He's  in  the  kitchen,  too. 
Spot's  on  his  way  back  to  Nakokok,  to  address 
a  farmers'  meeting  on  malaria  prevention; 
Fred  and  Joe  are  out  in  the  jungle,  Dr.  Iron 
is  in  Dolittle;  Dr.  Neems  and  Buster  are  in  the 


74  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

office,  working  over  some  dictation  for  a  re- 
port to  the  Bureau  on  this  Bull  Creek  work; 
Lake  White  has  been  in  that  ditch,  but  you  can 
see  him  for  yourself  now;  Grant  and  Charlie 
are  working  before  our  eyes  there;  Uncle  Pete 
is  driving  old  Ironsides;  Archie  Kemp  and 
Smith  are  talking  sanitation  in  Charleston  and 
Bluits  Falls,  respectively;  and  I'm  here." 

"A  good,  thorough  report,  Master  Pepper," 
Mr.  Hollis  laughed.  "Think  I'll  step  over  to 
the  regions  of  Cookie  and  see  what  is  going 
on."    And  he  walked  briskly  away. 

At  the  door  of  the  kitchen  he  stopped,  for 
the  Chief  was  talking,  and  he  did  not  want  to 
interrupt  either  him  or  the  two  eager-faced 
boys  that  were  listening. 

"It  is  all  sorts  of  a  pity,  Billy,"  he  was  say- 
ing, "that  those  Boy  Scouts  of  yours  should 
have  run  off  to  the  Virginia  mountains.  They 
could  have  been  doing  such  splendid  work 
right  here  at  home.  No  fuss  about  it — I  hate 
fuss — it's  not  a  part  of  the  Service — but  good, 
big,  man's  size  work  for  every  mother's  son 
of  them,  if  they  had  stayed  here  to  do  it.  Why, 
the  Surgeon  Gener;al  of  the  Army,  Gorgas,  you 
know,  told  me  that  the  EngHsh  scouts  were 
the  right  hand  of  the  Government  in  sanita- 
tion, when  he  was  in  South  Africa,  and  Ho- 
ward told  me,  speaking  of  Langford's  work 
at  San  Antonio  in  nineteen-four,  that  the 
youngsters  in  San  Antonio  did  wonders.      I 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  75 

saw  a  lot  of  it  myself,  too,  in  that  part  of  Texas. 
It  was  really  splendidly  inspiring  work.  They 
had  aquariums  in  all  the  schools,  with  eggs 
and  wrigglers,  so  the  pupils  could  watch  them 
develop  into  mosquitoes,  with  the  help  of 
large  magnifying  glasses.  There  was  all  sorts 
of  rivalry  among  the  boys  in  the  matter  of 
finding  and  reporting  to  the  Health  officers 
the  biggest  number  of  breeding  places  found 
and  destroyed.  There  would  be  a  Public 
Health  merit  badge  as  well  worth  the  earning, 
Billy,  as  w^as  the  Croix  de  Guerre  on  Buster's 
motor-ambulance." 

''Did  those  kids  really  help,  though,  w^hen 
it  came  to  a  show  down?"  the  scout  asked 
doubtfully. 

"I  should  say  they  did!  The  first  year  the 
death  rate,  which  had  been  from  fifty  to  sixty 
cases  a  year  from  malaria  troubles,  was  re- 
duced seventy-five  percent,  and  in  the  second 
year  there  was  not  one  death  due  to  malaria 
in  San  Antonio." 

"But  those  kids  would  have  scuttled  off  like 
bunnies,  if  there'd  been  any  real  scary  stuff 
'round,  like  the  Yellow  Fever  you  told  us  about 
in  Havana  and  on  the  Isthmus !  I  just  bet  you 
they  would,"  Wardy  struck  in,  with  all  the 
moodiness  of  his  rather  doubting  young  nature. 

"You  are  wrong  there,  old  man,"  the  Assis- 
tant Surgeon  General  laughed,  looking  down 
at    the    towseled    tow    head    good-naturedly, 


76  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"There  was  an  epidemic  of  Yellow  Fever  in 
the  part  of  Texas  near  the  Mexican  border — I 
had  charge  of  it,  so  I  ought  to  know — back  in 
nineteen-three,  and  the  ways  and  looks,  and 
the  whole  pathology  of  the  Stegomyia  faciata, 
as  the  Aedes  calopus,  or  the  mosquito  that 
conveys  Yellow  Fever,  was  then  called,  were 
burning  questions  among  all  the  school  boys  of 
San  Antonio,  just  as  Buster  tells  me  First  Aid 
is  with  the  lads  of  Paris  now-a-days.  As  to 
this  war  we're  at  last  in,  thank  heavens! 
I  firmly  believe  that  if  the  Boy  Scouts  will  only 
stay  at  home  and  help  the  United  States  Public 
Health  Service,  and  their  own  State  Boards  of 
Health,  to  clean  up  the  country  so  that  our 
Army  training  camps  can  be  on  a  thoroughly 
sanitary  basis,  they  will  be  doing  as  much  to 
help  lick  Germany  as  the  men  in  our  sister  ser- 
vices are  doing  on  land  and  sea.  Those  Vir- 
ginia scouts,  mostly  from  Richmond,  I  believe, 
are  of  course  doing  an  excellent  thing  by  go- 
ing to  Accomac  and  Northampton  Counties, 
and  helping  the  farmers  gather  in  their  enor- 
mous potato  crop,  but  if  you  fellows  will  take 
my  advice  and  learn  what  Anopheles  look  like, 
and  all  about  the  destruction  of  the  breeding 
places  of  these  malaria  conveyors,  you  will  be 
doing  your  bit  in  the  war  as  well  as  the  best. 
Remember,  old  man,  that  it  is  the  field  ivork, 
field  work,  field  work  that  counts  in  malaria 
sanitation,  and  that  the  applied  knowledge  of 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  77 

what  you  read  in  books  is  the  only  real  use, 
and  you  Boy  Scouts  can  do  as  much  as  any- 
body in  its  application.  If  I  were  a  Boy  Scout 
commissioner,  I  would  preach  "stay  at  home 
and  help  there"  until  I  dropped,  or  until  you 
poor  youngsters  did." 

"But  we've  planned  this  big  hike  for  a  whole 
year.  Chief,"  Billy  explained,  a  bit  crest-fallen. 
"Our  troop  never  has  been  anywhere  to  have 
adventures,  and — and  we  felt  we'd  be  just  sure 
to  have  lots  of  them  if  we  could  only  get  far 
enough  from  home." 

The  Assistant  Surgeon  General  smiled 
broadly. 

"That  so,  Billy?  Well,  have  they  had  many? 
Have  you  heard  from  any  of  them?" 

"Oh,  yes  sir.  I  got  a  letter  this  morning 
from  my  chum.  Tod  West.    Like  to  see  it?" 

"Certainly  I  would,  if  I  may  read  it  out  loud 
to  Wardy,  too.     May  I?" 

"Why,  sure,"  from  Billy;  so  the  General 
took  the  letter  and  read  as  follows: 


"Dear  Billy: 

I  am  having  a  right  nice  time  of  it  up  here,  but  I  miss 
you  a  lot.  Wish  you  were  along.  I  have  caught  a  good 
many  fish,  perch  I  guess,  and  a  turtle.  We've  got  a  good 
swimming  hole.  We  did  a  lot  of  flag,  wig-wag  practice 
yesterday,  and  it  was  awful  hot.  No  scraps  so  far,  but 
some  rough  house  at  nights. 

Your  chum, 
T. 


78  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Huh!"  rather  ungraciously  from  Wariield 
Brown;  "I  don't  see  much  adventure  in  that, 
Billy  Hoover!  Caught  some  fish,  and  don't 
know  whether  they  are  perch  or  not,  as  if  any 
boy  couldn't  tell  those  flat  little  beggars,  and 
rough-housed  some  at  night.  Gee,  but  that's 
a  great  life !  Why,  you  and  me  catch  fish  every 
other  day  in  the  Big  Bear,  and  they're  bass, 
too,  and  I  bet  we  know  it  all  right  enough !  and 
I  bet  two  boys  just  couldn't  rough-house  more 
than  we  do  when  we're  in  the  swimming  hole." 
Then,  beginning  to  chuckle,  "I  say.  Chief,  I 
ducked  Pepper — I  mean  Dr.  Sloan — three 
times  yesterday." 

"Good  for  you,  Wardy!"  spoke  out  Mr. 
Hollis,  as  he  now  entered,  "  'Morning,  Chief, 
glad  to  see  you  back!    Good  trip,  eh?" 

"No,  it  was  not,  Hollis,"  the  Chief  responded. 
"It  was  abominably  hot  in  Miami,  and  we  had 
an  off  shore  breeze  that  brought  out  every  mos- 
quito for  miles  around,  to  say  nothing  of  sand 
flies,  and  when  I  got  to  Tallahassee,  (had  to 
run  over  there  for  Cuthbert's  report)  the  heat 
among  those  red  clay  hills  was  fearful.  It 
rained  a  bit,  too,  one  of  those  nice,  sticky,  semi- 
tropical  down-pours  like  New  Orleans.  It  was 
worse  than  Dry  Tortugas,  and  I  sighed  for  the 
cooling  trade  winds  on  the  Caribbean  side  of 
the  Isthmus.  Met  Senator  Cubb  in  Tallahas- 
see, by  the  way,  down  there  on  business  with  a 
member  of  the  House,    He  expects  to  be  up 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  79 

this  way  in  a  day  or  two.  His  grandson,  a 
handsome,  snlky-faced  young  cub  of  fifteen, 
was  with  him.  It  is  plain  that  the  old  fellow 
adores  him,  and  spoils  him  disgustingly.  The 
lad's  parents  are  both  dead,  though,  so  I  guess 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  excuse  on  the  Senator's 
side,  and  he  is  a  dear  old  fellow  himself,  and  a 
good  friend  of  the  Service,  too." 

"The  Lord  preserve  us,  man!"  in  a  dismayed 
groan  from  the  tall  engineer. 

"I  say  so,  too !"  Wardy  flung  out,  his  temper, 
never  of  the  best,  much  ruffled.    "Cousin  Byrd 
^ot  a  letter  from  him,  the  Senator,  you  know, 
last  night.    He's  going  to  stay  with  us." 

"Oh,  he  will  be  at  the  Folly  Quarters,  will 
he,  Wardy?"  Mr.  Hollis  asked  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  "that  is  too  good  to  be  true.  Our  guard- 
ian angel  is  still  with  us,  Chief." 

"Oh,  Tm  ready  for  both  of  them,"  Wardy 
grunted.  "Let  'em  come,  'specially  that  Van, 
the  kid's  name  is  Van  Lear  Cubb,  Cousin  Byrd 
told  me." 

The  sweet-tempered  scout  misunderstood 
him. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  are  all  ready  for  them, 
Wardy,"  he  said.  "Mammy  Lou  told  Uncle 
Pete  that  she  and  you  had  fixed  up  two  awful 
nice  rooms  for  them." 

"Did  she  tell  you  which  two?"  young  War- 
field  inquired  darkly. 

"Why  no,  she  didn't,"  Billy  replied  simply. 


8o  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Well,"  with  grimness,  "the  Senator's  room 
isn't  so  bad,  only  eight  Browns  and  three 
Ravenelles  have  died  in  that  bed,  but  Van's 
room  is  a  hummer!  It's  had  twenty-two 
deaths  in  it,  and  one  suicide,  and  one  murder. 
Honest  it  has.  Gee!  I  wouldn't  want  to  curl 
up  in  that  old  four-poster  my  own  self.  No 
suh !  There's  a  real,  sure-'nough  ghost  in  there 
too,  the  guy  that  was  murdered.  That's  a  por- 
trait of  him  in  the  study,  by  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, and  they  say  it  looks  a  lot  like  me.  I  ain't 
a  bit  crazy  about  it,  myself.  He  was  just  aw- 
ful, and  Cousin  Byrd  says  I've  got  some  of  his 
temper.  Reckon  I  have,  too,  'cause  I'm  just 
always  getting  mad.  He  beat  a  slave  to  death, 
or  something  dreadful  like  that,  and  then  an- 
other slave  smashed  in  his  tow  head,  that's 
just  like  mine,  too,  and  so  he  goes  round  in  that 
old  room  at  night,  screeching  like  time,  laying 
for  anybody  that  hasn't  got  any  more  sense 
than  to  sleep  in  his  blamed  old  four-poster." 

"You  don't  believe  one  half  of  that,  you 
young  scamp."  The  Assistant  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral laughed. 

Wardy  grinned. 

"Well — I  don't  know,"  he  said  impishly. 
"Hope  Van  Cubb  will  beheve  it,  anyway.  So 
long,  Billy  Scout,  I've  got  to  trot  back  to  the 
Folly  Quarters.  Cousin  Byrd  will  give  me 
Billy  Blue  Hill  if  I'm  late  for  dinner.  Good- 
bye, General.    Good-bye  Mr.  Hollis." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  8i 

"So  long,  Wardy,"  from  the  scout.  ''Say, 
Buster  told  me  to  tell  you  he  was  ever  so 
tickled  with  that  ham  you  sent  him  for  his 
birthday  party.  We're  going  to  celebrate  on 
the  first  week  in  August,  instead  of  waiting  to 
the  twenty-fifth  when  he'll  really  be  eighteen, 
'cause  we  don't  know  where  any  of  us  may  be 
by  that  time.  Us  Service  fellows  change  around 
so" — this  last  with  some  pride. 

''But  look  here,  Billy,"  the  Assistant  Sur- 
geon General  interupted,  "I  thought  I  bought 
a  ham  for  Buster's  party,  some  weeks  ago." 

"Oh,  great  day!"  in  a  wail  from  Warfield. 
"He — he  did  buy  a  ham,  from  the  Folly  Quar- 
ters, too,  but  he  (I'd  like  to  punch  your  head 
for  you,  Billy  Hoover!)  he- — well — I  gave  Bus- 
ter one,  too.  Aw,  Gee,  I've  got  to  go,  and — 
and.  Good-bye  everybody."  And  he  dashed 
out,  bestowing  a  sulky  scowl  on  the  round- 
faced  scout.  At  the  door  he  collided  sharply 
with  the  incoming  Pepper,  dodged  under  his 
arm,  and  then  disappeared. 

The  three  men  and  the  boy  gazed  after  his 
sturdy,  indignant  small  figure,  and  then  at  each 
other,  in  surprise.  Finally  Pepper  spoke, 
scratching  his  red  head  thoughtfully,  his  cap 
pushed  over  his  left  ear. 

"Why,  he's  a  regular  young  man-eater,  when 
he  gets  mad,"  he  grinned,  carefully  pulHng  off 
one  legging  and  examining  a  good  sized  bruise 
on  his  shin.    Then,  replacing  the  legging  and 


82  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

strapping  it,  he  handed  the  Chief  a  letter,  sa- 
luted, and  strolled  out,  humming  cheerfully  a 
most  pathetic  ditty,  containing  a  request  for 
exact  information  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
"The  Boys  of  the  old  Brigade,  so  sturdy,  so 
staunch  and  so  true,"  after  which,  being  once 
more  in  the  open,  he  proceeded  to  fall  again 
into  the  ditch. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"A  bow-shot  from  her  bower-eaves, 
He  rode  between  the  barley-sheaves 
The  sun  came  dazzUng  through  the  leaves, 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves. 

Of  bold  Sir  Lancelot. 
A  redcross  knight  forever  kneeled 

To  a  lady  in  his  shield, 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field. 

Beside  remote  Shalot/' 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

"Fisher  boy,   your  bait  be   throwing, 
Drowsy  swells  about  you  flowing, 
Swift  your  sturdy  arms  their  rowing. 
Draw  you,  lifting,  t'ward  the  bar." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Two  days  later,  having  seen  nothing  of 
Wardy  since  his  pugnacious  departure  from 
Camp  Ross,  Billy  Hoover  decided  to  look  him 
up.  After  he  had  finished  his  work  with  the 
noon-day  dinner  dishes,  he  went  into  his  own 
cabin,  took  out  from  among  his  carefully  folded 
duffle  the  small  compact  roll  of  khaki-covered 
fishing  tackle  that   every  good  scout  should 

83 


84  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

have,  and,  after  examining  it,  to  see  that  all 
the  joints  of  the  light  steel  rod  were  in  place, 
and  that  his  spin-reel,  both  on  catch-lock  and 
relief,  worked  smoothly,  he  strapped  it  shut 
again  and  fastened  it  to  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle;  for  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General  had 
lent  him  his  own  horse,  Toby,  to  ride  over  to 
the  Folly  Quarters. 

Billy  was  in  the  best  of  humors,  for  not 
only  was  this  the  afternoon  that  he  and  Wardy 
usually  appointed  for  fishing,  but  he  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  really  satisfied  with  his  knowl- 
edge of  malarial  transmission,  thanks  to  his 
kindly  Chief.  With  pardonable  pride,  the  scout 
realized  that  he  was  no  longer  content  to  class- 
ify a  biting  mosquito,  standing  on  its  head, 
with  its  hind  legs  waving  in  the  air,  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Anopheles  family,  but  that  he  must 
make  sure,  by  the  four  or  five  spots  on  its 
wings  if  it  was  a  "Quad",  or,  seeing  the  yellow 
"bite"  in  its  wings,  to  put  it  down  promptly  as 
a  "Punc";  or  (which  was  harder  for  him)  to 
count  the  spots  on  the  sixth  vein  of  an  Ano- 
pheles crucians.  He  was  in  dead  earnest  on  the 
subject,  for  it  meant  that  much  coveted  merit 
badge  in  Public  Health,  one  of  the  two  remain- 
ing stepping-stones  toward  a  Life  Scout,  so, 
before  mounting  Toby,  he  filled  the  older  of 
his  two  canteens  with  kerosene  (fresh  water 
was  already  in  the  other  one)  and  setthng  the 
cord  of  his  scout  hat  on  the  back  of  his  yellow 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  85 

head    he  rode  away,  taking  a  bridle  path  to- 

-li  SriS^atHre^:  old  plantation  house, 
he  was  met  by  Mammy  Lou,  trouble  clearly 
showing-  on  her  round,  kindly  black  face  and, 
toZs  utter  horror,  she  at  once  conducted  him 

^  Poor*^  Billy  fidgetted  unhappily,  turning  his 
scout  hat  round  and  round  by  its  broad  brim, 
or  plaving  nervously  with  the  ^^dllte  tape  an- 
^ard  of  his  Patrol  Leader's  whistle.  How  glad^ 
y  would  he  have  put  it  to  his  mouth  and 
sounded  the  three  short  blasts,  followed  by  a 
on  J  one,  that  means  "Patrol  Leaders  come 
herl  "  if  only  his  assistant  m  the  Patro  ,  Tod 
West,  had  been  near  enough  to  respond !     i  he 

oom'was  quite  empty,  ^f^^^V^'v    smiline 
furniture,  the  books,  and  the  funny    smiling 

face  of  the  black-capped    *,T'^''h  hnv  seem- 
bv  the  ereat  Sir  Joshua,  the  life-sized  boy  seem 
h  g  dmost  to  step  out  of  the  ^duU  goW  ot  the 
frame,  ready  to  give  a  jolly,    Yay,  Billy,    m 

Wardy's  own  voice.  t^mner 

"Who'd  ever  think  you  had  such  a  temper, 
old  scout!"  Billy  smiled,  still  a  little  nervous, 
fnd  speaking  aloud.  "You're  jusnuU  of  fun- 
when  you  don't  go  and  get  mad!  ^^ 

"He  has  a  dreadful  temper,  my  dear,    came 
the  lovdy  old  voice  of  Mr.  Byrd  Ravenelle 
Jhereipo^n  the  scout  jumped  and  looked  about 
him  uncertainly. 


86  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Then  he  saw  Warfield's  guardian,  again  in 
the  blue  silk  dressing-gown,  standing  by  a 
door,  let  directly  into  the  oak  pannehng  of 
the  room. 

"Good  afternoon,  Billy,"  the  old  gentle- 
man said,  with  his  crooked  smile,  his  tall  figure 
appearing  more  gaunt  than  usual;  "I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  boy.  That  uniform  is 
charming.  I  do  wish  that  my  darling  Wardy 
was  a  Boy  Scout  like  you." 

"Wish  he  was  too,  sir,"  Billy  answered,  most 
horribly  ill  at  ease. 

"I  am  sure  you  do,  my  boy,  I  am  quite  sure 
you  do,"  Mr.  Ravenelle  assented.  "It  is  such 
a  delicious  thing  for  a  lad  to  be — speak  the 
truth,  do  a  good  turn  daily,  and  so  forth. 
Charming,  quite!" 

Drawing  a  deep  breath,  Billy  plunged  into 
his  mission,  explaining  that  this  was  the  day 
he  and  Warfield  usually  went  fishing,  dividing 
the  catch  between  Camp  Ross  and  the  Folly 
Quarters. 

"Well,  I  am  most  terribly  sorry,  you  know," 
Mr.  Ravenelle  said  with  soft  urbanity,  "but 
Wardy  cannot  go  with  you  this  afternoon. 
Poor  Wardy!  He  has  a  headache  and  is  in 
bed  at  this  very  moment." 

"Why,  I  never  knew  he  was  sick  in  his  life," 
the  scout  blurted  out.  "He  looks  as  husky  as 
anything.  I'm  awful  sorry  he's  sick,  sir.  May 
I — may  I  go  up  and  see  him?" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  87 

"Oh  dear  me,  no,"  from  Mr.  Ravenelle,  with 
his  widest,  most  hair-raising  smile,  ''Wardy  is 
much  too  wretched  to  see  anyone,  except  my- 
self. It  is  so  good  of  you  to  want  to  cheer  him, 
however,  most  brotherly  and — oh,  dear  me,  so 
like  a  Boy  Scout !  I  adore  Boy  Scouts,  they  are 
so — so  subtle!"  and  he  laughed  for  about  the 
only  time  the  scout  could  ever  remember. 

'*Yes  sir,"  he  said  shyly.  "I'm  just  awful 
sorry  Wardy  is  sick.  And  FU  leave  part  of 
my  catch,  if  it's  a  good  one,  as  I  go  back  to 
camp." 

"And  that  makes  another  good  turn  to  your 
daily  account,  my  dear  Billy."  Mr.  Ravenelle 
smiled.  "Oh,  dear  me,  dear  me,  why  isn't  my 
poor,  little  Warfield  a  Boy  Scout?"  and  in 
quite  a  transport  of  admiration  apparently,  he 
gently  pushed  Billy  Hoover  from  the  room  and 
out  of  doors,  the  scout  being  only  too  glad  to 
get  into  the  warm  sunshine. 

Remounting  his  horse,  a  well  built  chestnut 
cob,  he  trotted  out  of  the  grassy  yard  and  fol- 
lowed the  low  bank  of  the  Big  Bear,  stoutly 
whistling  "under  all  circumstances,"  as  even 
a  much  harrassed  scout  should  do. 

At  a  certain  point,  where  the  river  narrowed, 
he  sw^ung  himself  out  of  the  saddle,  and  tied 
Toby  to  the  low  limb  of  a  live-oak,  whose  gray 
beard  of  Spanish  moss  helped  to  sweep  off  the 
lazy  flies.  Then,  untying  his  roll  of  fishing 
tackle,  and  slinging  both  canteens  across  his 


88  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

tough  body  by  their  wide  canvas  straps,  he 
walked  briskly  along  the  bank,  determined  to 
do  his  bit  of  sanitation  before  he  fished,  and 
remembering  a  tiny  pond  of  back  water  that 
he  and  Wardy  had  found  on  their  last  trip,  and 
that  was  quite  full  of  mosquito  larvae 
and  wrigglers,  or  "wiggle  tails,"  as  the  boys 
preferred  to  call  them. 

He  found  the  bit  of  marshy  ground  with 
very  little  trouble,  for  he  had  blazed  a  tree  or 
two,  making  his  small  notches  low  down,  by 
way  of  a  trail,  and  had  carved  an  arrow,  with 
a  box  at  the  feathered  end,  to  show  the  near 
presence  of  water— though  he  had  his  own 
doubts  as  to  the  goodness  of  it.  Removing  the 
metal  cap  of  his  old  canteen  he  made  a  cup  out 
of  one  of  his  hands — the  folding  cup  that  hung 
from  one  of  his  belt  hooks  was  respected  as 
a  conveyor  of  drinking  water — and  began  to 
throw  oil  over  the  still  pond,  first  toward  the 
center,  some  five  feet  away,  and  then  up  close 
to  the  shore,  watching  the  smooth  film  that 
formed  with  satisfaction,  knowing  very  well 
that,  when  the  wrigglers  rose  to  the  surface 
for  air,  the  oily  blanket  would  smother  them. 
As  he  was  attending  to  this  work  very  earnest- 
ly, crouched  at  the  edge  of  the  little  pond  on 
his  haunches,  a  low,  good-natured  laugh  made 
him  look  over  his  shoulder  quickly,  to  find  the 
brown-headed  Gopher  Bean  near  him,  resting 
lazily  against  a  willow. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  89 

"You  all  beat  anything  in  creation,"  this 
young  gentleman  remarked,  smiling  down  at 
the  squatting  scout.  "Bet  you're  lookin'  fo' 
skeeter  aiges.  Say,  how  do  they  taste?  Any 
good?" 

Billy  grinned. 

"We  don't  eat  them,"  he  explained.  "We 
just  try  to  destroy  them,  so  you  folks  'round 
here  won't  have  any  more  malaria." 

"Shoo!"  the  Gopher  chuckled,  "thet  so?  My, 
ain't  that  nice  of  you,  though!" 

Billy  flushed,  but  he  kept  his  temper  the  best 
he  could. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  how  nice  we  are,"  he 
said  stoutly  enough,  "but  I  reckon  we  do  the 
best  we  can — all  the  Service  do  that,  you  know. 
If  these  eggs  hatched,  they'd  all  be  wiggle- 
tails,  and  then  miosquitoes,  and  as  they  are  all 
malaria  carriers  'round  here,  they'd  make  you 
mighty  sick  sooner  or  later.  That's  honest, 
Gopher." 

"Well,"  from  the  Gopher,  responding  quick- 
ly to  the  scout's  good-natured  friendliness. 
"That's  all  right,  I  reckon.  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thin',  though,  Scout.  Ef  you  tote  a  hoss-chest- 
nut  in  yo'  pants,  you  won't  never  have  no  fever. 
Not  never.  Granny  Wilks  tol'  me  that.  She's 
the  Wise  Woman  up  on  Sago.    It's  a  fac',  too." 

"Is  that  straight?"  Billy  asked  politely, 
though  he  didn't  at  all  believe  it.     "She  must 


90  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

be  all  sorts  of  a  wise  old  lady,  I  should  think. 
Ain't  she,  Gopher?" 

*'She  sho'  is  wise.  She  charmed  Jim  Bode's 
warts  away,  an'  she  cured  my  black  eye  fo'  me 
in  jest  no  time,  after  Wardy  Brown  got 
through  with  me.  He's  the  all-firedest,  tough- 
est, funniest  li'l  cuss  when  he  gets  mad — 
which  is  jest  'bout  three  times  a  day,  I  bet — 
thet  I  jest  can't  do  nothin'  but  laugh  at  him. 
That's  how  he  licks  me." 

"He  gave  you  a  black  eye,  did  he?"  the  scout 
asked,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself,  for  War- 
field  was  much  smaller  than  the  easy-going 
Gopher. 

"  'Cose  he  did.  Scout,"  Gopher  Bean  grin- 
ned. "Et  were  after  that  time  we  stol'  yo' 
ham." 

Billy  Hoover  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  body 
very  straight,  his  fists  doubled  up. 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  Wardy  Brown 
ever  stole  anything?"  he  glared.  "You've  got 
all  sorts  of  a  nerve !  I  won't  stand  for  anybody 
calUng  Wardy  a  thief,  so  shut  up.  If  he  wasn't 
sick  in  bed  just  now,  he'd  lick  you  himself." 

"He  ain't  in  no  baid.  Scout,"  the  Gopher 
flung  back  quietly,  though  he  stood  his  ground. 
"He  was  jest  a-hidin'  from  you.  There  ain't 
a  mite  o'  use  fo'  you  ter  git  mad  at  me.  I — 
why  I — I,"  a  dull  blush  spreading  over  his  tan- 
ned skin,  "I  like  you  right  now,  when  you're 
wantin'  to  fight  me,  better'n  any  boy  I  know. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  91 

You're  so  blamed  straight,  an' — an'  sorter 
clean,  an'  sech  a  good-tempered,  tough  young 
hustler!  Blamed  ef  you  ain't.  Scout.  Over  at 
Henery  Bode's  we  talk  'bout  you  a  heap.  But 
honest  Injun,  me  an'  Wardy  Brown  stol'  that 
ole  ham.  Jest  like  we  stol'  et  from  ole  Haba- 
kuk  Meers  sto'  the  night  befo'  General  Whit- 
lock  bote  et.  We've  made  a  heap  o'  money 
offen  thet  ole  ham.  Stol'  et,  an'  sole  et,  nigh 
on  twenty-one  times,  twenty  anyhow.  Et 
cost  fo'  bucks,  you  know,  an  we  made  two  hun- 
dred apiece — Wardy  allays  divided  up  real 
honorable.  Et  helped  him  to  raise  the  money 
to  pay  off  thet  thousand  dollar  mortgage  on 
the  Folly  Quarters,  to  Senator  Cubb.  I  got 
mine  still,  'cause — 'cause  I  thought  the  kid 
mought  need  et,  someday." 

'*Well-ril-be-hanged !"  the  scout  flushed, 
feeling  as  ashamed  as  if  he  had  himself  done 
something  disgraceful.  "That's  just  awful! 
It's  tough!"  and  he  scratched  his  crisp  yellow 
head  in  distress.  "Are — are  you  still  stealing 
stuff.  Gopher?" 

"No  indeedy  we  ain't,"  very  emphatically 
from  the  Gopher.  "We're  too  skairt,  both  of 
us.  You  see  ef  this  ever  gits  out,  everybody 
will  be  a-hollerin'  an  a-bawlin'  thet  we  all  stol' 
the  Washington  mail  bag,  because  et  were  on 
the  same  night  we  busted  into  ole  Habakuk's 
sto',  but  honest,  Scout,  we  never  tetched  the 
blamed  thing.    We  never  took  no  money,  nor 


92  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

nothin'  like  that,  Wardy  an'  me,  jest  the  ole 
ham.     Now  we're  plum  skairt  to  death." 

"Yep,"  very  crisply  from  the  Boy  Scout, 
looking  squarely  at  the  disconsolate  Gopher, 
"I  bet  you  are  scared.  Why  the  dickens  did 
you  want  to  go  and  tell  me  about  it?  Hully 
Gee,  man!  I — I  sure  wish  you  hadn't.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  wish  you'd  never  told  me 
a  thing." 

"Well,  I  don't.  I  been  a-wantin'  ter  tell  you 
fo'  a  long  time,  'cause  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
tell  nobody  else,  but  Wardy,  he  said  I  mustn't, 
thet  you'd  jest  naturally  hate  him  fo'  ever  ef 
you  knew.  You  see,  Scout,  Wardy  planned  to 
give  everybody  back  their  fo'  bucks — he'd  kep' 
a  list  of  et  all — jest  as  soon  as  he'd  paid  off 
the  mortgage,  from  the  money  he'd  git  from 
some  timber  on  the  land.  He  jest  couldn't 
tetch  no  timber,  you  see,  long  as  the  place  had 
a  mortgage  on  et.  But  now  the  money's  gone 
in  thet  ole  mail  bag,  and — well,  we're  plum 
skairt  to  death.  I  can't  look  no  hog  in  the  face 
now-a-days.  So  'long.  Scout,  you  ain't  a-goin' 
ter  tell  nobody,  are  you?  I  jest  had  ter  tell 
somebody,  'cause  we  been  so  skairt." 

"N-no,  I  won't  tell  on  either  of  you.  Gopher," 
the  scout  sighed,  his  dark  eyes  troubled. 
"Poor,  old  Wardy!  Poor,  old  Wardy!  He's 
just  a  kid,  and — I  say.  Gopher,"  his  round  face 
brightening,  "if  we  could  only  catch  the  guy 
that  stole  the  mail  bag,  and  if  we  could  make 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  93 

him  hand  over  the  money,  out  of  that  regis- 
tered letter,  everybody  would  just  know  you 
two  hadn't  robbed  the  post  office.  And  say," 
very  gently,  and  feeling  most  awfully  clumsy, 
"if  we  did  do  all  that,  would  you  be  willing  to 
give  back  the  two  hundred  dollars  you — you 
took,  if  Wardy  gave  back  his — and — and  own 
up  to  the  thing  you — you  did?  I  say,  w^ould' 
you  do  that.  Gopher?  I  know  it  would  be  awful 
spunky,  but  if  ever  they  do  start  a  troop  here 
(and  the  Chief  wants  Pepper  Sloan  to  do  it) 
it  would  show  that  you  had  the  right  stuff  in 
you  for  a  Boy  Scout.  Tve  done  some  pretty 
tough  things  my  ownself,  Gopher — n-not  just 
like  that,  of  course,  but — but  I'm  a  Boy  Scout, 
and  a  Patrol  Leader,  and  Pm  not  such  an  aw- 
ful bad  scout.  We  fellows  aren't  one  bit  dif- 
ferent from  other  boys,  only,  well — we  do  try 
to  be  straight,  and  we  ain't  scared  to  own  up 
when  we  are  bad ;  or  if  we  are  scared,  we  own 
up  anyhow.  Gee,  I  bet  I'm  making  an  awful 
mess  of  what  I  want  to  say,  but  it's  sort  of 
tough  on  a  fellow  to  explain  things,  and  to 
live  up  to  his  oath,  too,  when  he's  a  Lone  Scout, 
like  I  am  now^-a-days.  The  rest  of  the  patrol 
buck  a  boy  up,  some  how.  You'd  make  a  first 
rate  Patrol  Leader,  Gopher,  so  would  good  old 
Wardy,  if — if  you'll  just  pay  back,  if  you  can, 
and  own  up.  I — I  don't  know,  I  doubt  if  any 
fourteen-year-old  would  know,  though  heaps 
of  them  have  more  sense  than  me,  but  I  think 


94  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Wardy  was  all  wrong  about  doing  something 
dirty  and  then  making  it  up  when  things  came 
his  way.  It — it  don't  sound  square  to  me,  and 
I  don't  believe  it's  right.  But,  Gopher,  if  dear, 
old  Pepper  Sloan  does  start  a  troup  of  scouts, 
you're  the  very  kid  to  be  at  the  head  of  your 
eight,  and  a  Patrol  Leader  just  has  to  be 
straight,  so  won't  you  please  help  us  to  trail 
that  mail  thief,  and  then  tell.  Better  wait  till 
then  to  say  something,  I  reckon,  but — but  be 
ready  to  own  up  any  time — right  now  if  you 
had  to.  The  Chief  has  written  to  Mr.  Living- 
stone, he's  the  President  of  the  Scouts,  in 
Washington,  though  of  course  Woodrow  Wil- 
son is  the  official  Commander-in-Chief,  and  I 
reckon  Pepper  will  get  his  commission  as  a 
Scout  Master  any  day,  so  we've  all  got  to  get 
out  of  this  mess,  you  and  Wardy  and  me,  just 
as  soon  as  we  can.  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  talk  to 
the  Chief  about  it  all,  and  he  won't  tell  any- 
body he  shouldn't.  Gopher,  and  I  reckon  I'll 
just  have  to  talk  to  Wardy,  too,  but,  Gee!  I'd 
rather  take  a  licking  any  day.  You'll  let  me 
tell  the  Chief,  won't  you,  old  Scout,  and  you'll 
own  up  when  your  time  comes,  won't  you?" 
and  he  placed  one  dirty  brown  hand  with  a  firm 
affection  on  the  other  youngster's  bowed 
shoulder,  the  old,  friendly  grin  on  his  mouth. 
"I'll  own  up,  honest  injun  I'll  own  up. 
Scout!"  the  Gopher  said  brokenly.  "I  jest 
can't   do   nothin'   less  Wardy   owns   up   too. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  95 

though,  'cause  I  won't  tell  on  him,  any  more'n 
he'd  tell  on  me.  You  said  a  while  ago  that  you 
done  bad  things — why,  boy,  you  ain't  done  no 
sech  a  thing,  yo'  heart's  jest  as  clean  as  yo' 
body.  You're  good,  an'  you're  all  sorts  of  a 
man,  too,  even  ef  you  are  only  a  kid.  Gosh,  I 
thought  you  was  a  sissy  once !  Wish  every  kid 
'round  heah,  was  half  as  good  as  you,  Lone 
Scout !  I'll  own  up  jest  whenever  you  say,  ef 
Wardy's  willin'  o'cose,  an'  you  can  tell  yo' 
Chief  jest  what  you  please.  I  jest  know  et'll 
be  all  right.  So  'long!"  And  he  disappeared 
noiselessly  among  the  undergrowth,  leaving 
a  deeply  worried  Boy  Scout,  scratching  his 
yellow  head  thoughtfully,  but  with  his  young 
jaw  squared  with  a  big  hearted  purpose,  sturd- 
ily bent  on  doing  as  a  Boy  Scout  should. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Just  for  a  handful  of  silver  he  left  us  ; 

Just  for  a  riband  to  stick  in  his  coat — 
Found  the  one  gift  of  which  fortune  bereft  us, 

Lost  all  the  others  she  lets  us  devote. 
They,  with  the  gold  to  give,  doled  him  out  silver, 

So  much  was  theirs,  who  so  little  allowed. 
How  all  our  copper  had  gone  for  his  service! 

Rags — were  they  purple,  his  heart  had  been  proud!" 

ROBERT   BROWNING. 


"So  much  impress  these  Coast  Guards  free, 
(They  greatly  love  to  bandy  boys !) 

And  let  those  'Jackies'  know  that  we, 
We  Service  chaps,  are  handy  boys." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

TWO  YOUNG  CUB(B)S 

After  Billy,  his  catch  divided  into  two 
strings,  had  returned  to  camp,  having  left  one 
bunch  of  fish  at  the  Folly  Quarters,  he  went 
straight  to  his  Chief  and  told  him,  very  hon- 
estly, all  that  he  and  the  Gopher  had  said. 
General  Whitlock  was  thoroughly  pleased  at 
the  stand  the  boy  had  taken,  and  told  him  so, 
and,  with  a  quickness  that  was  a  part  of  his 
trained  mind,  he  at  once  grasped  the  situation 

96 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  97 

from  more  angles  than  the  puzzled  scout  had 
believed  could  exist,  for  he  was  famous,  was 
the  Assistant  Surgeon  General,  as  the  most 
thorough  detail  man  in  the  Service. 

Pepper,  who  had  received  his  Scout  Master's 
commission  that  same  afternoon,  was  also  con- 
sulted, and  the  outcome  of  this  official  high 
court  was  the  finding  that  all  agreed  that  Billy, 
much  to  his  relief,  had  best  leave  the  aforesaid 
details  to  his  elders,  the  cheerful  Pepper  taking 
it  upon  himself  to  interview  Wardy  and  "bring 
the  poor  little  tow-head  to  his  senses,  for  he'll 
be  one  of  my  Boy  Scouts,  you  know,  Chief." 
It  was  further  decided  by  this  same  court,  the 
Chief  acting  as  Judge  Advocate  General,  that 
Billy  should  make  another  trip  to  the  Folly 
Quarters  just  as  soon  as  a  proper  opening  pre- 
sented itself,  so  that  Wardy  could  be  given  a 
fair  chance  to  tell  him  in  a  straightforward 
way,  boy  to  boy,  about  his  unhappy  escapade, 
should  the  Gopher  have  already  consulted  him 
about  his  own  wish  to  "own  up."  If  Wardy 
said  nothing,  then  the  matter  was  to  be  left  in 
Scout  Master  Pepper's  energetic  young  hands. 
They  let  no  one  else  into  their  secret,  not  even 
Buster,  for  the  Chief  objected  to  worrying  the 
boy,  still  half  sick  from  his  old  shrapnel  wound, 
unless  he  could  be  of  very  definite  use. 

An  excellent  excuse  for  a  visit  to  the  Folly 
Quarters  presented  itself  some  three  or  four 
days  later,  when  Pepper  burst  into  the  kitchen 


98  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

where  the  Cookie  was  industriously   sheUing 
peas. 


"Can  you  make  a  cherry  pie,  Billy  Boy,  Billy  Boy, 
Can  you  making  a  cherry  pie,  charming  Billy?" 


the  exuberant  young  officer  sang  out,  his  eye- 
brows arched  very  high  with  excitement. 

"Sure,"  from  the  always  practical  scout. 
"You  want  one?" 

Pepper  burst  out  laughing,  and,  grabbing 
the  youngster,  waltzed  about  with  him  several 
times. 

"Aw,  quit — please !"  Billy  giggled,  ducking 
out  of  the  Assistant  Surgeon's  grasp.  "What's 
it  all  about,  anyway?  What  you  want  a  cherry 
pie  for,  doctor?  It's  lots  too  late  for  them 
down  here,  you  know — but  maybe  we've  got 
some  canned  ones." 

Then  Pepper  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  kitchen  table  and  explained  that  he  had 
been  speaking  in  metaphor,  and  that  all  he 
wanted  was  to  tell  Billy  that  he  must  have  a 
very  good  supper  ready  for  the  next  night,  as 
the  Chief  was  going  to  invite  the  Hon.  Joshua 
Cubb  and  his  grandson  over  to  *tiffin'  with  the 
officers,  and  he  wanted  his  mess  to  'do  itself 
proud.' 

"And  he's  written  the  invite,  my  cream-puff, 
and  here  it  is,  and 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  99 

'So  I  laugh  and  blush,  Mamma, 
And  that's  the  reason  why.'  " 

Pepper  quoted  gaily.  Now's  your  imperial 
chance  to  see  Wardy — doggone  it,  for  two  pins 
I'd  kiss  you,  Billy — you're  such  a  good  little 
scout !  Don't  worry,  you're  too  muscular  to  be 
my  fairy  princess,  though  you  may  prove  to  be 
one,  or  at  least  a  fairy  godmother,  to  our  tow- 
headed  friend." 

Behold,  then,  First  Class  Scout  Billy  Hoo- 
ver, with  his  best  olive  drab  shirt,  a  new  white 
and  black  Patrol  handkerchief  knotted  about 
the  open  V  over  his  breast,  his  tan  shoes  care- 
fully cleaned  (I  defy  anyone  to  polish  a  real 
scout  shoe!)  and  with  his  gilt  insignia,  double 
Patrol  Leader  bars  of  green  felt,  and  merit 
badges  displayed  on  his  sturdy  person,  stand- 
ing in  the  shade  of  the  avenue  of  great  live  oaks 
leading  up  from  the  side  of  the  Folly  Quarters, 
in  a  wide  sweep,  to  the  river  front  of  the  house, 
his  brown  felt  hat  set  very  exactly  on  his  head, 
its  cord  carefully  adjusted  over  the  back  of  his 
yellow^  hair.  He  was  quite  well  contented  with 
his  appearance,  for  he  looked  trim  and  natty, 
and — though  he  did  not  know  this  last — very 
manly,  too. 

Master  Warfield  Brown,  in  a  brand-new  pair 
of  white  duck  knickers,  a  white  sport  shirt, 
thrown  deeply  open  from  his  brown  throat,  his 
legs    encased   in   stockings,  his  feet  in  white 


100  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

sneakers,  suddenly  appeared  on  the  front  steps 
and  waved  to  him,  really  very  glad  to  see  him, 
it  seemed,  for  he  raced  down  the  steps  and  up 
to  him  and  proceeded  to  punch  him  in  the 
stomach,  a  sure  sign  that  he  was  in  a  most 
comrady  spirit. 

"Yay,  Billy!''  he  grinned. 

"Yay,  Wardy!"  from  the  scout.  ''How  you 
feeling?" 

"Fine."  Then  his  tanned  skin  grew  deeply 
pink.  "Tm  all  right  now,  I  mean."  Then,  be- 
coming excited,  he  added  the  following  strange 
remark,  as  they  sauntered  toward  the  house 
together.  'Tf  fellows  just  let  me  alone,"  he 
said  darkly,  "I'm  the  easiest  boy  to  get  along 
with  you  ever  saw,  but  if  a  kid  tries  to  get  fresh 
and  begins  to  butt  in  on  my  business — why, 
I'm  pretty  sure  to  get  mad,  and  start  some- 
thing." 

The  Boy  Scout  felt  at  once  that  all  was  not 
well  with  his  tow-headed  friend,  that  the  "En- 
tente Cordiale"  between  them  was  apt  to  be 
all  too  brief. 

"Who's  been  making  you  mad,  and  troub- 
ling you,  old  scout?"  he  asked  in  the  most  pla- 
cative  manner  he  could  assume,  thoroughly  ex- 
pecting an  explosion.  Wardy's  reply  brought 
instant  relief,  however. 

"Why,  you  know  Gopher  Bean,  don't  you?" 
he  asked  pleasantly.     "Well,  he  and  me  had 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  loi 

a — a  sort  of  a  secret,  and — and  he  wants  to 
tell." 

'That  so,  Wardy?"  Billy  asked  mildly,  a 
most  disagreeable  little  perspiration  springing 
out  all  over  his  tough  body,  and  not  daring  to 
look  at  his  short  friend. 

''Yep.  But  don't  let's  talk  about  it.  It 
makes  me  too  mad.  Say,  Billy,  I  sure  am  glad 
to  see  you.    That's  straight." 

"Well,  you  don't  ever  come  over  to  Camp 
Ross  any  more,  so  I  just  have  to  come  here  to 
see  you,"  Billy  flung  back  good-naturedly. 
"By-the-way,  I  got  a  letter  here  for  Senator 
Cubb.  It's  for  you  and  your  guardian  too,  sort 
of.  The  Chief  wants  the  lot  of  you  to  come 
over  for  tiffin  tomorrow  night  at  seven  o'clock. 
We're  going  to  have  all  sorts  of  good  things 
for  eats,  so  you  better  come,  Wardy.  Oh  yes, 
and  Buster  said  to  tell  you  that  if  you  didn't 
come  he'd  ride  over  here  on  Toby  and  spank 
you." 

"Oh,  I'll  come  all  right,  if  Cousin  Byrd  says 
I  may,"  Wardy  cried  happily,  his  face  bright- 
ening all  over.  "I  love  it  at  Camp  Ross.  It's 
lots  more  fun  than  here  at  the  Folly  Quarters. 
The  Chief  asked  Van,  too,  didn't  he  Billy?" 

"Of  course  he  did.  Say,  Wardy,  w^hat  sort 
of  a  boy  is  Van  Lear  Cubb  ?  As  tough  as  you 
thought?" 

"Tough?"  in  quick  admiration.  "He's  not 
one  bit  tough.    He's  great !    He's  got  an  allow- 


102  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ance  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  month! 
and  a  pony,  and  a  motor  boat  and  even  a  Path- 
finder runabout  of  his  own.  What  you  know 
about  that,  Billy  Scout!  He's  going  to  give 
me  a  shotgun,  too.  A  Remington,  sixteen — 
and  I've  only  known  him  for  two  days  and  a 
piece.  He's  just  ever  so  nice,  Billy — and  rich ! 
Great  day!"  Billy  Hoover  opened  his  eyes 
very  wide  and  looked  at  Warfield  squarely. 

"He  must  be  nice,  to  want  to  give  you  that 
gun,"  he  said  steadily,  "but  I  don't  see  why  his 
being  rich  has  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"But  it  has  a  lot  to  do  with  it,"  Wardy 
flushed,  resenting  Billy's  tone.  "Why,  we're 
going  to  be  partners.  Van  and  me,  and  have 
the  Folly  Quarters  between  us  some  day.  He 
says  he  can  get  me  another  thousand  dollars 
easy,  and  I  bet  he  can,  too." 

"You  must  be  crazy  in  the  head,  Wardy 
Brown!"  the  scout  blurted  out,  very  nearly 
losing  his  temper.  "Two  kids  can't  play  around 
with  a  thousand  dollars,  just  like  it  was  a  white 
guinea-pig;  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it," 
and  in  his  troubled  heart  he  at  once  saw  that 
Wardy  was  determined  to  say  nothing  about 
his  late  badness,  since  he  would  depend  on  Van 
Lear  to  clear  the  mortgage,  and  to  settle  things 
with  the  Senator. 

"Say,  Wardy,"  he  continued  evenly,  his  dark 
eyes  narrowing  a  bit,  "is  that  Remington  six- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  103 

teen  to  help  pay  for  the  Folly  Quarters,  for 
Van's  share,  I  mean?" 

Wardy's  attitude  at  once  became  truculent 
in  the  extreme  and  his  browned  skin  flushed 
deeply,  while  the  scout  stepped  quickly  back 
a  pace  or  two,  his  own  fists  doubled  up,  but  a 
boyish  voice  near  at  hand  interrupted  what 
might  have  been  a  fight. 

"What's  the  row,  Wardy?  Need  any  help? 
Oh,  look  who's  here?  A  little  Boy  Scout!  Gee, 
those  bare  knees  look  funny.  Say,  kid,  why 
don't  you  pull  down  your  pants  or  pull  up  your 
stockings,  one  or  t'other?  Your  name's  Gwen- 
dolyn, isn't  it,  kid?" 

''My  name's  Billy  Hoover,  if  you  want  to 
know%"  the  scout  blazed,  sw^inging  around  on 
the  new  comer,  mad  to  the  heart  of  him.  "I'll 
punch  it  into  your  head,  if  you  like." 

"Aw,  shut  up,  Billy,"  Warfield  cried  sudden- 
ly, as  he  stepped  resolutely  between  them. 
"Let  him  alone.  He's  just  teasing  you  some. 
This  is  Senator  Cubb's  son.  Van  Lear,"  with 
an  emphasis  that  w^ent  straight  to  the  scout's 
big,  tender  young  heart,  "he's  the  best  friend 
I've  got.  Van,  this  is  Billy  Hoover,  one  of  the 
Service  boys  over  at  Camp  Ross.  Aw,  go  on, 
you  two.    Shake  hands.    Please." 

Billy,  greatly  hurt  as  to  his  feelings,  and  still 
pretty  mad,  complied  none  too  graciously, 
while  the  other  boy,  a  dark,  handsome,  sulky 
faced  lad  of  fifteen,  took  his  hand  carelessly, 


104  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

with  a  slight  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders  that 
made  the  scout  most  eager  to  slap  his  face  for 
him.  The  two  scowled  at  each  other  in  the 
way  boys  of  a  certain  age  have  when  very  mad, 
so  poor  Warfield  felt  that  he  must  say  some- 
thing and  say  it  quickly. 

"Van,"  he  began,  with  his  most  engaging 
grin,  ''General  Whitlock  has  asked  all  of  us 
over  to  Camp  Ross  for  supper  to-morrow  night. 
It'll  be  no  end  of  fun,  honest  it  will.  Eating 
out  of  doors,  with  a  big  old  camp  fire,  and  all 
that,  and  Billy  is  a  swell  cook,  he — " 

"Is  that  so?"  Van  cut  in  with  a  short  laugh. 
"I  thought  so.  He's  the  cook,  is  he?  Well, 
that's  just  like  a  Boy  Scout.  The  Nation's  ser- 
vants, I  call  them.  Say,  you've  got  a  nice  bunch 
of  friends,  I  must  say,  Wardy!  A  farm  hand, 
and  an  officer's  servant,  I — " 

"Aw,  Gee,  Van!"  from  the  horrified  Wardy, 
but  Billy,  pushing  him  aside,  promptly  took  a 
hand  himself. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  steadily,  flushing  with 
righteous  anger,  "the  sooner  you  shut  up  with 
that  sort  of  talk,  the  better.  I  don't  want  to 
fuss  with  you,  but  you've  been  trying  to  start 
something  ever  since  you  showed  up.  If  you 
want  to  fight,  it's  all  right,  you  know,  but  I 
haven't  done  a  thing  to  you,  and  you've  talked 
as  tough  as  you  could  to  me.  I  tell  you  right 
now,  I  won't  stand  for  any  more  of  it;  so  if 
you  want  to  fight,  say  so." 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  105 

Van  made  no  reply  whatever,  but  he  slapped 
the  scout  squarely  across  his  face,  and  Billy, 
every  muscle  at  once  hard  and  running 
smoothly  in  his  firm  body,  sprang  at  him, 
knocked  him  down  and  plumped  down  on  top 
of  him  on  his  knees,  after  which  they  began 
to  roll  and  tumble  about  on  the  ground,  for 
Van,  though  not  so  skillful,  was  bigger  and  a 
little  stronger. 

"You  get  right  off  him!       Hit  him,  Van! 
You  get  right  off  my  brother!" 

An  excited  whirlwind,  in  the  shape  of  a 
small,  red-headed  boy,  with  a  pink  and  white 
face  rather  freckled  as  to  the  bridge  of  the 
snubbed  nose,  here  suddenly  rushed  upon  the 
other  three  youngsters,  his  white  Norfolk  suit 
flashing  in  the  sun,  like  the  most  pugnacious 
of  the  members  of  the  famous  Table  Round  of 
Arthurian  legends,  his  fists  doubled  up.  He 
was  only  twelve,  and  short  and  slight  for  his 
age,  and  he  looked  not  unlike  a  small,  very 
plucky  bantam  as  he  hurled  himself  at  once 
upon  the  astonished  Scout,  throwing  one  mus- 
cular arm  about  his  neck  in  a  strangle  hold, 
that  proved  him  to  have  some  knowledge  of 

wrestling. 

"Oh,  please,  you  two  quit,"  came  the  implor- 
ing voice  of  Wardy  at  the  same  moment,  and 
as  Billy  did  not  want  to  hit  the  small  boy,  and 
as,  at  the  same  time  he  felt  his  flat  stomach 
rising  and  falling  in  the  quick  pants  of  a  deep 


io6  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

breathing  boy,  he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and 
Van  did  the  same. 

''Why  can't  you  ever  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness, you  little  runt?"  Van  growled.  "Go  on 
back  to  the  house,  or  I'll  spank  you  right  be- 
fore these  other  kids,  see  if  I  don't.  Now, 
trot!"  and  the  pugnacious  small  knight  of  the 
white  duck  Norfolk  suit,  who  had  had  plenty 
of  spunk  to  tackle  a  boy  at  least  thirty  pounds 
heavier  than  himself,  and  much  taller  into  the 
bargain,  wiped  his  dusty  hands  on  his  baggy 
knickers,  looked  at  Van  for  just  a  moment  out 
of  his  brown  eyes,  just  now  as  big  and  round 
as  coffee  cups,  and  then  turned  very  quickly 
and  ran  toward  the  house,  stumbling  a  little, 
now  and  then,  for  his  small  shoulders  were 
bowed  with  grief,  and  his  face  was  buried  deep 
in  the  up-lifted  crook  of  one  of  his  arms,  big 
tears  tumbling  down  his  freckled  nose. 

''Who's  he,  Wardy?"  the  scout  demanded, 
as  he  dusted  his  uniform,  sulkily  enough. 

"Oh,  that's  just  Don  Cameron,"  Wardy  an- 
swered quickly.  "Van's  half  brother,  you  know. 
I — I'm  awful  sorry  you  two  got  mad  with  each 
other.  Maybe  you'll  like  each  other  lots  better 
after  awhile.  You — you  going  right  back  to 
camp,  Billy?    Aw,  Gee!" 

"You  bet  I  am,"  the  scout  flung  back.  "And 
— and — and,"  then,  getting  a  hold  on  his  tem- 
per, he  continued  with  more  of  his  usual,  sweet 
tempered    friendliness,    "and   say,   Wardy,    I 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  107 

hope  you'll  come  over  to-morrow,  and  be  sure 
to  bring  that  red-headed  kid,  with  the  turned 

up  nose." 

"You  mean  Don  Cameron?  He's  not  invited, 

is  he?" 

"That's  just  who  I  do  mean.  Don's  a  gentle- 
man, and  spunky!  Gee!  He's  just  all  right, 
Don  is,  and  I'm  going  to  ask  the  Chief  to  in- 
vite him  specially,  you  see  if  I  don't.  So  'long, 
Wardy.  See  you  to-morrow,"  and  the  scout 
trotted  off,  not  even  looking  at  Van  Lear  Cubb. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies. 
The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart. 
Still  stands  thine  ancient  sacrifice, 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart." 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

"His  fairest  wish,  in  peace  to  lie 

'Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky,' 

Sang  out  his  song  with  a  will. 

Surely  we,  too,  hold  a  share  in  his  joys, 

Loved  so  his  choral  of  tears  or  of  toys. 

Glad  in  his  far  distant  haven,  my  boys. 

Dear  Hunter  home  from  the  hill." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

CONCERT  PITCH 

"If  you  go  around  here  much  longer  with 
such  a  world-weary  expression  in  those  darkly 
violet  eyes  of  yours,  Master  Scout,  you'll  put 
Dad's  party  to-night  on  the  Fritz." 

It  was  the  next  morning  and  Buster  deliv- 
ered himself  of  the  above  opinion  with  its  end- 
ing of  trench  slang,  while  he  tied  mosquito  net- 
ting over  the  wide  mouth  of  one  of  many  squat 
glass  jars,  in  which  the  Chief  had  placed 
enough  water  to  about  half  fill  them,  and,  also, 

io8 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  109 

some  larvae  that  he  wished  to  see  develop  into 
Anopheles  by  and  by.  Just  at  present  General 
Whitlock  w^as  over  at  the  head  v^aters  of  Bull 
Creek,  his  lean  length  stretched  flat  on  his 
stomach,  peering  through  his  eyeglasses  into 
the  thick,  dank  grass  about  him,  while  he  ex- 
plained to  a  much  discomforted  Pepper  that 
Anopheles  quadrimaculatis  had  more  hiding 
places  than  one.  After  Billy's  account  of  his 
pugilistic  encounter  at  the  Folly  Quarters  the 
previous  day,  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General 
had  decided  to  take  Buster  into  their  confi- 
dence, rather  against  his  will,  be  it  added,  and 
so  Buster  had  been  trying,  more  or  less  unsuc- 
cessfully, to  cheer  the  scout  the  entire  morn- 
ing. Finally,  even  his  sweet  temper  became 
worn,  for  w^hen  a  good-natured  boy  like  Billy 
Hoover  does  once  become  worried  and  sulky, 
he  makes  up  for  lost  time. 

"Gee,  Billy,''  Buster  continued,  as  he  gath- 
ered the  tiny  square  of  bobbinet  about  the 
neck  of  the  jar  and  slipped  an  elastic  band  over 
it,  "You're  having  all  sorts  of  a  tough  time 
trying  to  find  the  silver  lining  to  that  cloud  of 
yours!" 

The  scout  began  to  grin,  although  somewhat 
shamefacedly. 

"I  reckon  the  trouble  is  that  I'm  not  looking 
for  it  so  very  hard,"  he  said.  "Gee,  Buster, 
I  never  did  have  the  blues  this  way  before! 
I've  made  an  awful  mess  of  things,  haven't  I?" 


no  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Not  that  I  can  see,  unless  for  the  fact  that 
you  might  have  tried  to  give  Wardy  an  easier 
opening  to  own  up.  Still,  the  chances  are  that 
he  wouldn't  have  taken  it,  for  the  whole  trouble 
is  that  he  is  just  scared  to  death — in  a  regular 
man's  size  panic  about  his  adventures  as  a 
house  breaker,  and  he  thinks  that  he  has  found 
a  solution  to  all  his  troubles  in  making  friends 
with  this  rich  boy.  Poor  little  kid!  I  think 
he'll  find  himself  neck  deep  in  trouble  if  he 
gives  Van  Lear  Cubb  the  upper  hand  so  much." 

"You're  right,  Buster,"  the  scout  assented. 
"Wardy's  scared,  he's  so  rattled  that  he 
doesn't  know  what  to  do — just  like  a  bunny 
with  a  lot  of  beagles  after  him.  He  don't  know 
which  way  to  go.  By-the-way,  I've  got  to  ride 
over  to  his  place  right  now,  for  your  father." 

An  hour  later  he  had  ridden  up  to  the  Folly 
Quarters  with  a  note  written  on  the  official 
stationery,  the  seal  and  insignia  of  the  U.  S. 
Public  Health  Service  (an  anchor  and  chain, 
crossed  with  a  winged  Mercury  staff)  in  the 
upper  left  hand  corner,  the  whole  being  ad- 
dressed to  Donald  Cameron.  It  was  written 
in  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General's  own  hand, 
a  pleasant,  cordial  little  note,  apologizing 
gracefully  for  not  having  included  him  in  yes- 
terday's invitation,  and  asking  the  boy,  as  an 
especial  favor,  to  be  the  great  sanitarian's 
guest  that  evening. 

"Gee  whiz!"  the  enraptured  Don  cried,  after 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  in 

reading  the  note,  "He — he  treats  me  just  like 
I  was  a  grown-up." 

''Will  you  come,  Don?"  the  scout  smiled 
down  from  his  saddle.  He  had  refused  to  dis- 
mount. 

"You  just  bet  I  will,"  in  fervid  response. 
"Ought  I  to  write  an  answer?  I  hate  like  any- 
thing to  write  notes,  'cause  my  letters  are  so 
awful  fat,  you  know." 

"He  said  I  needn't  w^ait  for  an  answer," 
Billy  laughed,  "so  if  you'll  say  you'll  come,  I 
reckon  that  will  be  all  right.  Mind,  the  whole 
officers'  mess  will  be  mad  if  you  don't  show 
up,  Don,"  and  he  galloped  off,  most  uncom- 
fortably aware  of  a  pair  of  sullen,  but  deeply 
longing,  blue-gray  eyes  set  in  a  touseled  tow- 
head,  that  gazed  at  him  from  behind  one  of 
the  oaks. 

"Well,  it's  all  in  Pepper's  hands  now,  thank 
goodness,"  the  scout  sighed  as  he  galloped 
along,  "so  I  needn't  worry  a  bit,"  but  he  did 
worry  all  the  same.  "I'll  do  just  what  Buster 
says,  though.  I'll  try  to  have  all  the  fun  I  can 
to-night,  for  after  Pepper  talks  to  Wardy,  I 
bet  it  will  be  all  up  with  our  friendship." 

Following  this  resolve,  he  flung  himself  into 
the  other  boys'  sports  that  afternoon  with 
more  than  his  usual  energy,  that  this,  their  last 
play  time  together,  should  be  their  very  joUiest, 
but  he  went  through  his  part  rather  mechanic- 
ally, and  was  really  glad  when,  at  six  o'clock, 


112  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

he  had  to  leave  them  and  go  into  his  kitchen 
to  see  about  supper. 

The  three  boys  had  ridden  over  from  the 
Folly  Quarters  at  four  o'clock,  in  Van's  Path- 
finder, but  the  Senator  and  the  blind  Mr.  Rave- 
nelle  v^ere  not  due  until  six-thirty,  so  the 
guests  were  left  to  the  mercies  of  Buster. 

That  young  gentleman  was  particularly  ra- 
diant and  agreeable,  but  in  an  offhand,  imper- 
sonal way  that  rather  hurt  Warfield's  feeHngs, 
since  he  had  bragged  a  good  deal  to  Van  of 
his  intimacy  with  this  good  looking  lad  from 
the  Verdun  front. 

"I  say,  Buster,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  shy 
little  grin,  "your  namesake  over  at  the  Folly 
Quarters  is  doing  fine.  You  ought  to  come 
over  and  see  him." 

"That  so,  Wardy?"  Buster  laughed  easily. 
"Glad  to  know  it,  but  I  think  'most  any  other 
name  would  have  suited  that  bunny  better. 
How  about  it,  Van?" 

"I  don't  see  it  that  way,"  the  Senator's 
grandson  replied  warmly.  "Any  boy  would 
want  to  name  his  favorite  pet  after  a  fellow 
that's  seen  real  service  on  the  other  side,  like 
you  have.    I  know  I  would." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  done  anything,  man,"  Buster 
flushed,  a  bit  disconcerted  by  Van's  frank  ad- 
miration. "That's  straight.  I  just  happened 
to  play  in  luck  and  get  with  the  crowd  in  our 
Convoy  which  was  the  first  to  win  a  Croix  de 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  113 

Guerre  for  themselves.  The  other  men,  the 
grown-ups,  did  most  of  the  work,  Van."  Then 
he  promptly  changed  the  subject,  as  was  his 
quiet  way  w^hen  anyone  tried  to  talk  with  him 
about  his  own  bravery.  "Let's  start  the  camp 
hre,"  he  suggested.  'Tt's  ever  so  jolly  to  have 
one,  particularly  when  the  mists  begin  to  creep 
up  like  now." 

"Bet  you  had  some  great  camp  fires  over  in 
France!"  young  Van  Lear  cried  reverently,  his 
dark  face  glowing  w4th  all  a  boy's  hero  wor- 
ship, his  eyes  big  and  entirely  without  their 
usually  pert  expression  as  they  watched  every 
change  in  the  tall  Buster's  face,  very  earnestly. 

"Like  fun  we  did,"  Buster  laughed  back,  as 
he  began  to  lay  his  fire  carefully,  "our  camp 
fires  were  usually  little,  half  grown  things  be- 
hind the  VN^heel  of  a  motor-ambulance,  with 
three  or  four  of  us  squatting  'round  it  making 
tea,  and  scared  silly  all  the  time  for  fear  Fritz 
would  see  our  smoke  and  get  the  range  on  us. 
I'm  not  nearly  so  good  at  this  fire  stunt  as  our 
friendly  scout  over  there  in  the  kitchen.  Wish 
he  could  come  out  and  show  you  chaps  how  to 
light  a  fire,  the  way  he  does,  Indian  fashion, 
with  a  leather  thonged  w^ooden  bow,  a  bit  of 
soap  stone  and  friction,  instead  of  using 
matches  like  I  do.  Gee,  I'm  clumsy!  If  only 
I'd  known  that  scout  stunt  when  we  were  out- 
side Verdun,  I'd  have  been  a  sure-'nough  hero, 
for  one  time  Grandpere  Joffre  inspected  our 


114  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Convoy,  and  Mr.  Norton  gave  him  a  cigar,  and 
blamed  if  there  wsls  a  dry  match  in  the  lot  of 
us  so  he  could  Hght  it.  It  rained  all  the  time 
the  good  old  Field  Marshall  v^as  with  us. 
Nov;^,  if  I  had  been  a  Boy  Scout  myself,  like 
Billy,  rd  have  been  just  ten  times  more  handy 
with  the  trench  boys,  and  heaps  more  efficient 
in  my  own  corps,  too.  There  was  one  little 
poilu,  a  Parisian,  who  had  been  a  Boy  Scout, 
and  he  was  pretty  near  as  much  use  'round 
camp  as  Billy  Hoover  would  have  been,  though 
he  didn't  know  as  much  general  scoutcraft. 
Wardy  can  tell  you  even  better  than  I,  how 
much  Billy  knows  about  the  woods,  for  they 
have  often  been  out  together  practicing  wig- 
wagging and  whistle  signals.  They  used  to 
tramp  around  here  a  lot,  among  'the  silent 
places,'  didn't  you  Wardy?" 

"Uh  huh!"  young  Warfield  grunted,  his 
head  a  little  bowed. 

"Lost  your  tongue,  Don?"  Buster  demanded 
cheerfully,  quite  satisfied  that  his  praise  of 
Billy  Hoover  had  sunken  deep  in  Wardy's 
heart,  and  so  turning  the  talk  to  the  youngest 
of  the  boys.  "You  haven't  opened  your  mouth 
for  twenty  minutes." 

"But  I've  had  lots  of  fun  listening,  you 
know,"  Don  answered  with  a  shy  glance,  an 
echo  of  his  browned-skinned  half-brother's 
worship. 

Buster  blushed  slightly. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  115 

"You  and  your  big  brother  like  to  hear  about 
the  war,  don't  you?"  he  smiled. 

"You  bet  we  do,"  Van  cut  in,  "and  it's  the 
wonderfullest  thing  that's  ever  happened  to 
either  of  us,  ain't  it,  Don?"  some  of  Buster's 
persistent  kindness  to  the  small  boy  reflected 
in  his  own  voice,  "to  hear  about  things  from 
a  boy  that's  been  doing  his  bit." 

"You  must  have  had  such  great  times  in 
France,"  from  Don.  "I  wish  I  could  go  over 
there.  I've  read  about  a  bugler  boy  in  a  book 
Grandpa  has,  called  'Mr.  Brittling  Sees  It 
Through,'  and  he  was  just  a  young  kid.  He 
used  to  swipe  fish  from  a  private  pond  that  be- 
longed to  an  English  M.  P.,  while  his  company 
were  billeted  at  'Hatchings  Easy',  where  Mr. 
Brittling  lived.  And  say,  he  had  freckles  and 
a  turned-up  nose,  too.  Honest  he  did,  'cause 
the  book  says  so." 

Buster  burst  out  laughing. 

"Why,  I  tell  you  what  you  do,  Don,"  he  ad- 
vised. "Join  the  Boy  Scouts.  If  you  are  going 
to  be  over  with  Wardy  at  the  Folly  Quarters 
for  long,  join  our  troop.  Pepper  Sloan,  he's 
an  assistant  surgeon  on  Dad's  staff,  has  been 
commissioned  scout-master,  and  we're  all 
mighty  keen  over  it,  for  Dad  thinks  that  the 
boys  around  here,  properly  organized,  can  help 
the  Service  ever  so.  Then  you  can  be  sure 
to  do  your  bit  for  the  war  right  here.  You 
see,  when  I  went  to  Europe,  Don,  the  States 


ii6  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

had  not  entered  the  war.  If  they  had  been  in 
it  then,  Fd  have  most  certainly  gone  with  my 
own  colors.  Now  that  Vm  invalided  at  home 
here,  I  just  can't  go.  You  be  a  Boy  Scout,  old 
fellow,  and  it  will  be  the  bulliest  sort  of  an 
Army  training.  They  are  the  stuff  of  which 
true  soldiers  and  sailors  are  made;  Lord  Kit- 
chener said  so  in  the  first  year  of  the  war,  in 
an  address  down  in  Derbyshire,  after  a  review 
of  the  'Notts  and  Derbys',  as  we  used  to  call 
His  Majesty's  Nottingham  and  Derbyshire 
Rifles." 

*'You  think  a  heap  of  the  Boy  Scouts,  don't 
you  Buster?"  Van  Lear  said,  his  brown  skin 
flushing  so  that  his  few  freckles  disappeared  in 
the  blush. 

"Sure  I  do.     Don't  you?" 

"No  I  don't!"  the  Senator's  grandson  cried, 
a  rather  piteous  break  in  his  voice.  "I  know 
a  troop  in  my  state,  near  one  of  Granddad's 
summer  plantations,  and — and  I  hate  the  lot 
of  them." 

"Why  on  earth  do  you  hate  them.  Van?" 
Buster  asked,  amazed  at  the  other  lad's  serious, 
greatly  hurt  manner.  "Aren't  they  square? 
Don't  they  play  fair,  or — " 

"How  do  I  know  how  square  they  are  in 
their  games,"  from  the  much  tanned  Van,  his 
eyes  wide  and  sulky,  "they  never  play  with  me. 
Not  a  one  of  'em,"  and  his  eyes  dropped  sud- 
denly to  the  ground.     "Course  I  don't  care 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  117 

whether  they  come  around  to  play  or  not,"  he 
added,  but  rather  wistfully  at  that. 

"Well,  if  you  knew  more  Boy  Scouts  you'd 
like  the  breed  as  much  as  I  do,"  Buster  said 
firmly. 

"Saying  a  good  word  for  the  Scouts,  are  you 
Buster?"  came  the  pleasant  voice  of  the  Assis- 
tant Surgeon  General,  as  he  walked  briskly  up, 
w^ith  Pepper  at  his  heels,  buttoning  his  uni- 
form blouse  as  he  came.  "Glad  to  hear  it. 
They  are  a  fine  lot,  if  our  own  Cookie  is  an 
example.  Need  them  particularly  in  these 
times  of  war.  This  troop  that  Dr.  Sloan  is 
going  to  organize  will  be  of  help  to  all  the  Ser- 
vices, for  I  have  to  start  to-morrow  to  make 
surveys  all  through  the  south  for  sanitating 
our  naval  stations  and  our  training  camps  for 
the  army,  too.  It's  a  big  piece  of  work,  and  the 
Service  will  need  the  help  of  every  boy  that 
they  can  lay  hands  on,  and  a  wide  awake,  trust- 
worthy bit  of  Young  America  like  Billy  will  be 
worth  his  weight  in  gold  to  us,  for  he  is  par- 
tially trained  already.  Yes  sir,  we  need  the 
scouts.  'Maxima  reverentia  debetur  pueris.' 
eh,  friend  Pepper?  Van,  you'll  be  a  taller, 
huskier  fellow  some  day  than  either  your 
Grandfather  or  myself,  for,  by  the  look  of 
them,  those  white  knickers  of  yours  are  hiding 
about  as  sturdy  and  straight  a  pair  of  legs  as 
I  ever  saw  in  a  fifteen-year-old.  Don,  my  party, 
as  Buster  calls  it,  would  have  been  a  dismal 


ii8  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

failure  without  your  august  presence,  and  I 
thank  you  a  lot  for  coming.  Buster,  your 
*plume'  is  much  awry.  Trot  over  to  our  cabin 
and  brush  your  hair.  Observe  the  olive  drab 
splendor  of  Pepper  and  myself,  combining  ele- 
gance with  activity!  Been  polishing  these 
leather  leggins  of  mine  ever  since  we  got  back 
from  field  work,"  and  he  laughed  as  he  quickly 
walked  away,  to  welcome  the  Senator,  who 
was  just  stepping  out  of  his  big  touring  car. 

He  was  a  short,  fat  old  fellow,  was  the  Sen- 
ator, with  a  lot  of  wavy  white  hair  under  his 
soft  gray  felt  hat,  and  he  was  as  jolly  as  he 
was  plump. 

"Hel-lo,  General!"  he  cried  heartily,  as  he 
waddled  toward  the  lean,  clever-faced  officer 
who  advanced  to  meet  him  with  one  hand  out- 
stretched. "This  is  delightful.  Beats  Talla- 
hassee to  a  standstill,  don't  it  now?" 

"My  dear  man,"  the  Chief  smiled  back 
smoothly,  "It  is  always  good  to  entertain  an- 
gels, unawares  or  otherwise.  Personally,  I 
have  always  thought  it  would  have  been  far 
more  delightful  had  our  Biblical  friends  known 
the  angelic  character  of  their  guests  before- 
hand. What  have  you  done  with  Mr. 
Ravenelle?" 

"Oh,  he  couldn't  come,  Whitlock,"  the  old 
gentleman  chuckled,  "and  between  ourselves, 
I'm  not  exactly  broken  hearted  over  his  ab- 
sence.   He  is  the  human  personification  of  an 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  119 

eel.  His  ward  is  a  dear  little  fellow,  though, 
with  that  tow  head  of  his.  He  and  my  dear 
Van  hit  it  off  from  the  start.  Van  has  already 
worried  me  out  of  sixty  dollars  to  get  Warheld 
a  ^Remington — something',  the  young  scamp! 
Isn't  he  a  handsome  fellow.  General?  Even 
his  freckles  are  attractive,  I  think.  Sort  of 
funny  and  jolly  in  that  tanned  skin  of  his! 
Buster  as  stunning  as  ever?  Shame  to  waste 
a  complexion  like  that  yellow  headed  young- 
ster's of  yours  on  a  boy.  A  girl  ought  to  have 
had  it,  sir.  I  knew  Van  would  like  him,  but 
I  wasn't  so  sure  about  Warfield's  reception. 
Luckily,  he  told  Van,  some  way  or  other  that 
he'd  never  had  a  real  present  in  his  life,  poor 
little  chap,  and  that  went  right  to  my  boy's 
heart.  Hence  the  Remington  what-do-you- 
call-it,  and  the  request  for  my  sixty  dollars. 
Always  after  the  old  man's  pocket  book,  bless 
his  heart." 

"That  so?  Must  be  a  delightful  boy!"  rather 
dryly  from  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General, 
settling  his  cap  on  his  iron  gray  head.  "And 
Warfield  is  willing  to  take  such  a  costly  pres- 
ent, is  he?" 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be  willing,  Whitlock? 
Van  has  plenty  of  money,  and  Warfield  has 
none,  so  there  you  are.  Why,  those  young 
monkeys  want  to  go  into  partnership  with  the 
plantation!  Funny,  for  Van  hasn't  got  many 
boy  friends.     Good  blood  in  Wardy,  you  see, 


120  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

and  Van  appreciates  it.  Boys  around  my 
country  place  are  a  common  lot,  not  fit  for 
his  associates.  Boy  Scouts  and  all  that  sort 
of  tumpty-tum.  Very  well  for  a  certain  class, 
I  reckon.  Think  of  a  partnership  between  a 
fourteen  and  a  fifteen-year  old.  Droll,  isn't  it?" 

*'Quite,"  with  particular  suavity  from  the 
Assistant  Surgeon  General,  as  he  led  the  way 
to  the  supper  table,  at  which  his  staff  officers 
were  already  standing,  while  Billy's  cornet 
rang  out  the  staccato  notes  of  the  mess  call. 

After  the  introductions  were  over,  every- 
body more  or  less  helped  themselves,  standing 
or  sitting  just  as  they  choose,  for  the  Chief, 
with  the  kindly  courtesy  that  was  a  part  of 
him,  had  insisted  that  the  scout  should  not 
serve  them,  when  the  other  boys  were  on  hand, 
but  that  they  should  have  a  sort  of  English 
buffet  meal,  so  that  Billy  would  be  free,  once 
the  food  had  been  placed  on  the  table,  and, 
even  in  this,  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General 
and  his  brother  of^cers  helped,  much  jocosity 
being  caused  by  the  discovery  on  the  part  of 
Surgeon  James  Montgomery  Neems  that  the 
artless  Pepper  had  dishonest  intents  upon  the 
breasts  of  some  cold  fried  chicken,  so  that  he 
consumed  them  rapidly  behind  doors  instead 
of  placing  them  on  the  table.  Old  Dr.  Iron, 
also,  performed  prodigies  of  skill  and  dexterity 
in  the  way  of  balancing  cold  veal  pies,  several 
at  a  time.     The  officers  did  their  work  with 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  121 

great  gusto,  any  appearance  of  boisterousness 
being  quite  eradicated  by  the  suave  gracious- 
ness  and  easy  courtesy  that  the  Chief's  manner 
contained  as  he  tossed  remarks  to  the  Senator, 
humorous  and  otherwise,  always  with  the  ut- 
most urbanity  and  with  the  undercurrent  of  a 
dignity  that  nothing  known  on  earth  could  ever 
undermine. 

"You  fellows  can  serve  yourselves,''  the  As- 
sistant Surgeon  General  called  to  Mr.  HolHs 
and  his  engineers,  as  he  served  out  chicken 
salad.  "I've  only  one  real  guest  to-night.  We 
have  both  grown  gray  in  the  service,  eh.  Sen- 
ator? So  you  are  one  of  us.  Don  is  my  social 
lion  this  evening.  Here,  Don,  try  this,  and 
tell  me  if  the  cuisine  of  this  green-roofed  hos- 
tlery  isn't  quite  as  good  as  you  and  your 
Grandfather  find  it  at  the  Ritz?"  and  he  hand- 
ed the  enraptured  Don  a  plate  piled  so  high 
with  salad  that  the  youngster's  brown  eyes 
fairly  danced. 

After  supper,  they  all  sat  about  lazily,  some 
in  the  rough,  homemade  deck  chairs  of  canvas, 
but  more  on  the  grass  about  the  fire,  watching 
the  bubbling  of  the  resin  as  it  oozed  and  sput- 
tered from  the  pine  boughs.  Buster,  sitting 
crossed  legged,  his  back  resting  against  the 
comfortably  curled-up  Wardy,  began  to  tune 
a  samisen  that  he  and  his  father  had  picked 
up  some  years  before  when  the  latter  was  on 
duty  at  Yokahama,  and  cuddling  his  softly 


122  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

pink  cheek  against  its  long  neck  he  swept  his 
fingers  quite  expertly  over  the  strings  above 
the  box-like  square  head. 

"Somebody  sing  something.  Please!" 
"Ohe,  ye  sportive  Geisha!"  came  the  prompt 
response  of  Pepper  Sloan.  "If  you  want  a  real 
treat,  I'll  sing  you  Jolly  Boating  Weather, 
with  the  slight  assistance  of  the  alto  soloist 
from  the  Cathedral  of  the  Incarnation,  Charles- 
ton. Oh,  yes,  I'll  let  you  sing  this  once,  Billy 
Scout,"  then,  beginning  to  beat  loudly  on  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  with  his  riding  crop  to  attract 
the  attention  of  everybody,  he  added  cheer- 
fully, "of  course  you  must  all  join  in,  whether 
you  know  it  or  not!  Ready,  Billy?"  and  on  the 
crisp  reply  of  "Shoot!"  from  the  scout,  they 
both  tilted  their  heads  close  together  and  be- 
gan, the  boy's  contralto,  low  and  smooth  and 
creamy,  singing  in  thirds  below  Pepper's  light 
baritone,  while  the  rest,  taking  the  young  of- 
ficer's advice,  gradually  added  their  voices  in 
the  old  Eton  boating  song.  Suddenly  above 
the  rest,  a  full  octave  higher,  there  swept  up 
the  gusty  shout  of  a  boy's  soprano,  powerful 
and  robust,  but  cultivated  to  the  last  degree 
of  sweetness : 

"Twenty   years   hence,    fair   weather, 

May  tempt  us  from  office  stools. 
We  may  be  slow  on  the  feather, 

And  seem  to  the  boys  old  fools — 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  123 

But  we'll  still  swing  together, 

And  swear  by  the  best  of  schools — 

Swing,  swing  together. 
And  swear  by  the  best  of  schools." 

"Great  day!  Who  did  that?"  the  amazed 
Pepper  demanded  ecstatically.  "It's  just  about 
the  loveliest  boy's  voice  I  ever  heard." 

"Oh,  that's  just  Don/'  Van  Lear  ansv^ered, 
looking  up  in  surprise.  "He's  soloist  at  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  John  the  Divine,  in  New  York, 
you  know.  Say,  kid,  don't  make  such  a  racket." 

"Racket!"  Pepper  growled.  "You  call  that 
a  racket?  Why,  I  bet  the  choristers  up  in 
heaven  can't  do  any  better.  How  about  it, 
Billy?" 

"We  never  had  a  voice  like  that  at  our  Ca- 
thedral," the  scout  said  at  once.  "Sing  some- 
thing by  yourself,  Don.    You're  a  wonder." 

"Sort  of  a  musical  cookie,  huh?"  Van 
grunted. 

"For  two  pins  I'd  slap  that  brown  freckled 
face,  you  know!"  young  Pepper  muttered  to 
his  neighbor  and  chum,  Spotteswood  Welford. 

"For  why,  Pepper?  You  better  behave 
yourself." 

"Oh,  I'll  be  a  good  boy,  old  son.  Only,  he 
looks  on  our  scout  like—"  and  he  hummed 
softly : 

"He,  humble,  poor  and  lowly  born, 
The  meanest  in  the  port  division. 


124  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

The  butt  of  epuletted  scorn, 

The  mark  of  quarter  deck  derision." 

It  makes  me  so  jolly  sick,  you  know,  Spot.  Say, 
Don,  do  sing  us  something,  as  Billy  says. 
Chief,  you  ask  him  to  sing." 

"Oh,  he'll  sing  if  I  tell  him,"  Van  Lear  struck 
in  surlily.  "Sing,  kid!"  and  Don  at  once 
cocked  his  red  head  on  one  side,  chorister  boy 
fashion,  and  began,  Buster  catching  up  with 
him  almost  at  once  on  the  samisen: 

"By  yon  bonnie  banks,  and  by  yon  bonnie  braes, 
Where  the  sun  shines  bright  on  Loch  Lomond, 

Where  me  and  my  true  love  spent  mony  happy  days, 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  o'  Loch  Lomond." 

and  almost  unconsciously,  the  deep  throated 
chorus  of  the  men's  voices  sung  out  the  old 
refrain : 

"O  ye'll  tak'  the  high  road, 

An'  I'll  tak'  the  low  road, 

An'  I'll  be  in  Scotland  before  ye: 

But  trouble  it  is  there. 

An'  mony  hairts  are  sair. 

On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  o'  Loch  Lomond." 

The  childish  soprano  that  had  so  often  filled 
the  vastness  of  the  great  northern  Cathedral, 
now  rang  out  in  golden  clarity  among  the  green 
tapestried  beauty  of  God's  silent  places,  carry- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  125 

ing  the  rest  along  in  a  glorious  sweep  of  sound 
— Boy,  only,  but  a  very,  very  great  artist. 

"There  the  wild  flowers  spring,  and  the  wee  birdies  sing 

And  in  sunshine  the  waters  are  sleepin', 
But  the  broken  hairt  it  kens  nae  second  spring, 

Though  resigned  we  may  be  while  we're  greetin'  " 

Through  the  silence  that  followed,  Buster's 
voice  broke  suddenly,  high  and  full  of  a  deep 
hurt: 

''Oh,  Dad — if  I  hadn't  been  shot  and  could 
go  back  to  the  other  side!  I'm  ever  so  strong 
and  husky,  and — Oh,  Dad,  I  want  to  go  back 


so!" 


"Yes,  I  know,  old  man,"  the  Assistant  Sur- 
geon General  said  at  once,  as  he  stepped  over 
to  his  son's  side  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  bowed 
head,  "I  understand." 

"It's — it's  that  song,  you  know,  sir.  I  heard 
the  Black  Watch  sing  it,  miles  and  miles  and 
miles  of  them,  swinging  along  the  road  south, 
and — oh  Dad,  I  want  to  go  back  so,  I  want 
to  go  back!" 

"Yes,  you  told  me  about  hearing  that  old 
song,"  the  General  said  quietly,  "It  was  just 
before  you  got  hurt,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes  sir.  It  was  a  regular  nightmare,  that 
night.  The  Germans  had  been  sending  a  lot 
of  lacrymose  shells  ©ver  the  French  lines  all 
the  afternoon,  and  some  of  the  men's  gas  hel- 


126  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

mets  didn't  work  right,  so  we  chaps  in  the  Sec- 
tion Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine,  No.  7, 
had  our  hands  full.  Four  of  us,  Charlie,  Hol- 
linsworth,  McKay  and  I,  were  squatting  over 
a  little  fire,  trying  to  boil  some  water  for  tea, 
and  I  remember  Vd  had  my  first  bath  for  ten 
days,  and  felt  just  'in  the  pink'  as  Tommy  At- 
kins says.  Then  we  got  word  from  Mr.  Nor- 
ton to  bring  our  car  (it  was  the  only  one  not 
in  service)  into  Verdun.  We'd  been  working 
all  the  afternoon,  'most,  with  those  gassed  fel- 
lows, and  that's  the  worst  sort  of  work  for  a 
Red  Cross  man,  and  I'd  made  nine  trips  back 
and  forth  between  the  trenches  and  the  nearest 
'poste  de  secour.'  The  blamed  machine  had 
skidded  and  had  two  wheels  in  a  ditch,  for  I'd 
scooted  as  hard  as  I  knew  how  on  the  last  trip, 
thanks  to  the  lively  Boches  over  the  way,  hav- 
ing got  the  range  on  Red  Pepper  Alley,  but 
the  four  of  us  got  her  out  onto  the  road  some- 
how, and  off  we  sailed,  in  high.  We  passed  the 
Black  Watch  well  behind  the  French  lines, 
singing  their  Loch  Lomond,  and  we  cheered 
them  like  we  were  crazy.  Think  we  were,  sort 
of." 

'*Wish  you'd  tell  us  all  about  it,  my  dear 
boy,"  the  Senator  cried,  eagerly  as  a  boy,  but 
Buster  blushed  and  shook  his  head. 

"There's  really  nothing  to  tell,  sir,"  he  said 
shyly.  'T  don't  remember  much,  I'm  afraid. 
I  know  after  a  while,  I  had  hold  of  the  back 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  127 

end  of  a  field  stretcher,  with  Hollinsworth  in 
front,  and  a  French  poilu,  just  a  kid,  on  it, 
when  one  of  those  Hght-you-up  star  shells 
burst  right  over  us,  and  then  the  shrapnel 
opened  like  fun.  Hollinsworth  was  an  old  fel- 
low, from  Anne  Arbor,  I  think,  a  professor  at 
the  University  of  Michigan. 

"Feel  a  bit  funny.  Buster?"  he  called  to  me 
as  he  grabbed  his  end  of  the  stretcher  poles. 

"Fm  scared,  if  you  want  to  know,"  I  yelled 
back,  for  the  guns  were  making  the  w^orst  sort 
of  a  row.  "Evidently  you're  going  to  run, 
aren't  you  sir?"  for  he  was  already  doubling 
over  the  rough  field  at  a  trot,  with  me  doing 
my  best  to  follow. 

"Run?"  he  grunted  without  looking  back. 
"Run  did  you  say.  Buster?  Why,  boy,  we're 
going  to  fly!"  and  we  did,  too,  until  poor  old 
Hollinsworth  camiC  down  with  a  tear  through 
his  thigh:  "Take  that  poilu  on  your  back,  you 
young  husky,"  he  gasped,  spitting  blood  as  he 
spoke. 

I  looked  at  the  French  kid,  but  he  wasn't 
in  nearly  as  bad  shape  as  Hollinsworth,  so  I 
made  him  as  comfortable  as  I  could,  then  I 
knelt  down  by  Hollinsworth  and  gave  him  the 
best  first  aid  I  knew  how  with  the  help  of  my 
small  field  kit,  and  he  says  I  cried  all  the  time, 
though  Fm  blamed  if  I  remember  it.  I  man- 
aged to  get  him  on  my  back  somehow — used 
your    fireman's    hold,    Billy — and    started    in 


128  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

with  him,  and  we  made  it,  too,  with  the  old 
boy  cussin'  me  all  the  way  for  not  leaving  him 
and  taking  the  Frenchy  first.  When  I'd  left 
him  with  Dr.  Lhoste,  I  beat  it  back  for  my 
poilu,  but  I  never  got  to  him,  for  the  next  thing 
I  remember  is  looking  up  at  a  fat  old  Fritz  who 
tapped  me  on  the  head  with  his  rifle  barrel  as 
soon  as  he  saw  my  eyes  open,  so  that  I  went 
to  sleep  again  real  quick.  The  next  time  I 
got  conscious,  I  can  tell  you  I  just  peeped  a 
little,  and  there  was  Fritz  with  another 
Dutchy,  looking  at  me  awful  hard. 

"He  looks  like  one  of  those  English  swine!" 
he  said. 

"Then  I'll  just  drop  my  butt  down  on  his 
pretty  face,"  Hans,  that  was  the  other  chap's 
name,  grunted.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do, 
'cept  to  say  my  prayers,  so  I  said  'em  to  my- 
self. Then  I  thought  of  something,  so  I  began 
to  mumble  the  greatest  lot  of  junk  you  ever 
heard,  "Czestochowa",  "Przemysl,"  and  some 
more  jaw-breakers  like  that. 

"Ach  Gott,  er  ist  ein  Russlander,  Hans!" 
fatty  grunted.  "Let  him  be.  The  Russians  are 
fools,  not  enemies  like  the  English.  He'll  rot 
out  here  where  he  is,  without  our  help,  and 
save  you  from  getting  your  dear  gun  all 
bloody.  Hein?"  and  he  lumbered  off,  Hans  at 
his  heels  "straffing"  the  English  to  beat  any- 
thing I  ever  heard. 

"My  heart  was  going  wallopy-bang-thump 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  129 

and  the  pit  of  my  stomach  felt  all  caved  in, 
even  without  the  shrapnel  tear  in  it,  and  I  was 
so  thirsty  I  just  wanted  to  cry,  but  at  that  I 
was  awful  grateful  to  God  that  they'd  let  me 
alone  and  hadn't  smashed  my  face  in.  Then  I 
fainted  again  and  then  Charlie  got  me,  and 
there  you  are!" 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  got  no  war 
decoration?"   the    Senator    cried   indignantly. 

"  'Course  I  didn't,"  Buster  smiled.  "Not 
for  myself.  All  us  boys  were  doing  that  same 
sort  of  thing  whenever  we  got  the  chance,  and 
unless  a  French  officer  happened  to  see  us,  we 
never  liked  to  mention  it.  The  only  reason 
Charlie  got  his  Croix  de  Guerre  was  'cause  Dr. 
Pinel  saw  him  bring  me  in,  with  a  rifle  fire  at 
his  heels  that  must  have  been  awful.  None  of 
us  ever  talked,  'cause  there  was  so  much  rot  in 
the  papers  over  here  anyhow  about  the  French 
decorating  an  American  for  any  old  thing,  that 
we'd  have  died  before  we  bragged.  It  used  to 
make  Mr.  Norton  just  hopping!  Any  way  our 
Convoy  got  *cite'  for  that  night's  work  for  the 
second  time,  and  that  was  just  great.  We  did 
have  good  team  work  in  our  Convoy,  and  we 
were  all  proud  as  Punch  of  it,  too.  Downright 
chesty,  Mr.  Norton  said.  Same  sort  of  thing 
as  school  spirit.  Same  ^esprit  de  corps'  that 
you  have  in  a  good  Scout  troop,  Billy.  Keep 
clean,   be   man    enough  to  say  your  prayers, 


130  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

have  as  much  fun  as  you  can  if  you  get  the 
chance,  and  don't  talk  about  it." 

"Oh,  get  out,"  quite  sullenly  from  Van, 
"You're  a  million  times  more  worth  while  than 
a  boy  scout!  You've  done  real  things,  you 
know,  and  not  just  played  soldier  like  they  do." 

"Scouts  don't  play  soldier,  as  you  call  it, 
Van,"  Buster  retorted.  "They  are  more  like 
our  Service  than  the  Army.  Just  do  things 
and  don't  talk  afterwards,"  and,  in  a  lower 
voice,  "they're  very  much  like  Billy  Hoover 
over  there,  the  best  of  them.  Husky  and  clean 
in  body,  clean  in  thought  and  in  talk  and  try 
to  travel  with  a  clean  crowd.  I  believe  it  would 
just  about  kill  Billy  to  know  that  any  boy  he 
really  liked  wasn't  straight.  Haven't  you 
found  him  that  way,  Wardy?  Lots  of  fun,  but 
clean  all  through?" 

"I  dunno,"  Warfield  answered  in  a  strange 
voice  and,  getting  to  his  feet,  he  walked  away 
from  the  rest,  until  he  got  among  the  dusky 
silent  places  of  the  great  pines,  where  he  stop- 
ped and  rested  his  arms  against  the  kindly 
rough  bark  of  a  big  tree  and,  burying  his  hot 
face  in  them,  began  to  cry. 

A  soft  little  breeze  had  sprung  up,  clearing 
the  mists  away  so  that  a  big,  copper  moon 
could  smile  down  through  the  pine  boughs, 
and  it  kissed  the  rumpled  tow  head  kindly, 
while  through  the  soft,  southern  night  the  vel- 
vety sounds  of  the  scout's  contralto  pulsated 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  131 

with  a  grave  tenderness,  that  was  a  part  of  his 
low  voice,  singing  an  old  thing  of  Gounod's; 
a  thing  loved  on  all  the  battle  fields  of  life, 
whether  at  the  distant  Verdun  of  Buster's 
dreams,  or  across  the  bruised  plain  of  a  young- 
boy's  aching  heart. 

"There  is  a  green  hill  far  away, 

Without  a  city  wall, 
Where  the  dear  Lord  was   crucified, 

Who  died  to  save  us  all. 

We  may  not  know,  we  cannot  tell. 

What  pains  He  had  to  bear, 
But  we  believe  it  was  for  us 

He  hung  and  suffered  there." 

Not  the  childish  gorgeousness  of  Don's  so- 
prano, but  the  sweet,  earnest  song  of  the  south- 
ern chorister  boy,  manly  and  simple  in  the 
well-trained  tones  that  had  sung  the  old 
maitre's  song  in  his  home  cathedral,  a  sturdy 
confession  of  the  scout's  own  simple,  big 
hearted  faith,  young  and  boyish  in  voice,  but 
as  manly  as  a  youthful  St.  Paul. 

*'He  died  that  we  might  be  forgiven. 

He  died  to  make  us  good, 
That  we  might  go  at  last  to  heaven 

Saved  by  His  precious  blood." 

"Oh,  God,  please — a  fellow  just  can't  know 
all  he  ought  to  do,  when  he's  fourteen  years 


132  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

old.  I — I  dunno  how  to  say  my  prayers,  like — 
like  Billy,  and  Buster,  and — and  good  boys — 
but  you  helped  Buster  out  on  that  battle  field 
in  France — and  so  won't  you  please  help  me 
now?  Oh,  I  know  Tm  a  bad  boy — but  I  want 
to  get  straight — and  be  a  scout — and — oh, 
please,  I'll  be  a  good  boy,  an'  tell — everything 
— yes  I  will — but.  Oh  Gee!  I'm  scared,  I'm  so 
scared!  Won't  you  please  help  me?  Please, 
please,  please — for  Christ's  sake.    Amen." 

"Oh,    dearly,    dearly    has    He    loved! 

And  we  must  love  him,  too, 
And  trust  in  His  redeeming  blood, 

And  try  His  works  to  do." 

Then  all  quiet,  for  the  boys  were  to  spend 
the  night  at  camp,  and,  a  Httle  later,  just  as 
Warfield  walked  sturdily  back  to  the  others, 
out  rang  the  last  message  for  the  day,  Taps, 
with  it's  caution,  "Lights  are  out",  a  word  of 
rest  for  all  tired,  battle  weary  men  wherever 
a  hard  fight  is  fought  the  great  world  over. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"He  loves  to  be  little,  he  hates  to  be  big, 
'Tis  he  that  inhabits  the  cave  that  you  dig; 
'Tis  he,  when  you  play  with  your  soldiers  of  tin 
That  sides  with  the  Frenchmen  and  never  can  win." 

ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON. 

"Prince  Henry:    What  man? 

Sheriff :    One  of  them  is  well  known,  my  gracious  lord; 

a  gross,  fat  man. 
Carrier:  As  fat  as  butter.'' 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

"It's  the  play-time  port  for  Service  boys  to  go." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

CbNTAINING  A  BRIEF  CONSTRUCTIVE  INTER- 
VIEW, OF  OFFICIAL  CHARACTER,  WITH 
SCOUT    MASTER    PEPPER    SLOAN 

"Oh,  Gee!  Here  comes  the  Bum-boat  boy!" 
It  was  very  early  the  next  morning,  and 
Billy  Hoover,  stretching  his  pajama-clad  body 
sleepily,  tumbled  off  his  army  cot  and  out  of 
the  cabin,  the  dew-wet  grass  of  the  clearing 
feeling  pleasantly  cool  to  his  bare  feet. 

Standing  at  the  side  of  the  roadway  was  a 
huckster's  wagon,  pulled  by  two  small,  very 

133 


134  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

sleek  mules,  and  piled  high  with  every  sort  of 
article  from  the  vegetable  kingdom  that  hap- 
pened to  be  in  season  at  the  time.  Sitting  on 
the  seat,  in  overalls  and  a  sleeveless  under- 
shirt, v^as  the  seller  of  these  wares,  his  white 
feet  swinging  comfortably  over  the  side.  He 
was  known  to  the  buying  world  about  Doo- 
little  as  Coonie  Black. 

He  was  a  fat  boy,  or  at  all  events  a  very 
chubby  one,  but  as  strong  as  a  young  ox  for 
his  fifteen  years.  He  had  light  brown  hair,  a 
jolly,  impudent  face  of  the  "shining  morning" 
variety,  and  blue  eyes  that  crinkled  about  their 
corners  with  suppressed  fun.  He  hailed  orig- 
inally from  Howard  County,  Maryland,  and 
held  the  inhabitants  of  Dolittle,  both  the 
workers  in  the  cotton  mill  and  the  near-by 
farmers,  in  cheerful  contempt,  as  lazy,  shift- 
less people,  quite  out  of  his  own  energetic 
world.  His  idea  of  Heaven  was  the  Lexington 
Street  market,  Baltimore,  and  his  notions 
about  the  other  place  were,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"just  like  Dolittle,  only  maybe  a  Httle  bigger.'' 
As  to  Coonie  Black,  himself,  his  worst  enemy 
could  never  have  accused  him  of  laziness,  for 
he  was  busy  every  minute  of  his  day,  and  you 
could  see  him,  almost  any  time  from  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  on,  working  sturdily 
in  his  big  brother's  truck  farm.  A  young  cab- 
bage was  to  him  as  the  fairest  of  roses,  and  a 
head  of  lettuce,  particularly  if  out  of  season. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  135 

filled  his  plump  heart  with  an  ecstacy  that  no 
orchid  ever  grown  could  have  equaled.  He 
was  an  ambitious  youngster,  and  studied,  as 
the  scout  used  to  say,  "like  the  dickens",  and 
you  were  always  certain  to  find  a  book  thrust 
in  his  hip  pocket,  anything  from  an  Appleton's 
Speller,  to  a  Bennett's  Latin,  or  a  Gilder- 
sleave's  Greek  Grammar,  or  possibly  a  Went- 
worth's  School  Algebra.  Billy  studied  con- 
scientiously, because  he  felt  that  a  good  scout 
ought  to  do  the  best  he  could  with  his  lessons, 
but  the  fat  boy  actually  got  fun  out  of  it.  Any- 
thing that  "helped  him  along"  was  a  joy  to 
him.  So  he  and  Billy  often  got  in  an  hour's 
work  together,  while  the  latter  was  helping* 
Coonie  with  his  butter  beans,  and  many  a  page 
in  English  History  was  read  aloud  by  the  one, 
while  the  other  hoed  sugar  corn,  taking  turn 
and  turn  about.  The  dream  of  Coonie  Black's 
young  life  was  for  him  and  his  brother  Philip, 
to  save  up  money  enough  to  buy  their  small 
truck  farm  outright,  for  at  present  they  rented 
it  from  the  Folly  Quarters,  and  so  he  saved  his 
spare  money  as  carefully  as  the  scout  did  his; 
though  w4th  less  anguish,  for  Billy  had  a  weak- 
ness for  candy  that  amounted  to  a  passion. 

"Say,  Coonie,"  Billy  said  reproachfully,  after 
fifteen  minutes  of  the  most  spirited  haggling 
over  various  bits  of  food  produce,  "It's  just 
scan'lous  to  ask  thirty-five  cents  for  those 
peaches !    They're  runts,  that's  what  they  are." 


136  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Why,  I  think  they're  lovely,"  Coonie  grin- 
ned. "If  you  hit  'em  with  a  potato  masher, 
they  squash — just  as  easy!  Honest  they  do. 
But  Vm  going  to  give  you  a  whole  peck  of 
them,  for  helping  me  work  those  tomatoes  last 
Tuesday.  I'd  been  hoeing  yet  if  you  hadn't 
answered  my  S.  O.  S.  Say,  those  scout  signals 
come  in  fine,  don't  they?" 

It  was  Billy's  turn  to  grin  now%  and  he  did 
so,  most  broadly. 

"Sure,"  he  assented.  "When  ever  I  hear 
you  whistle  'Patrol  Leaders  come  here',  I  know 
those  three  short  blasts  and  one  long  one  mean 
more  than  the  Handbook  ever  says,  'cause  they 
mean  Tatrol  Leaders  come  here — and  bring 
a  hoe  along,  too.'  " 

"That's  nothing!"  from  the  placid  Coonie. 
"When  Wardy  Brown  gives  that  whistle  from 
the  back  porch  of  the  Folly  Quarters — he 
knows  the  signals  as  good  as  you,  now — 
it  means  Tatrol  Leaders  come  here — and  bring 
the  rent  along!'  Say,  Billy,  when  do  we  start 
that  troop?  I'm  in  on  that,  if  I  can  only  get 
the  time,  and  if  Dr.  Pepper  will  have  me." 

"Jabber,  jabber,  jabber!  Talk,  talk,  talk!" 
came  the  voice  of  Pepper  Sloan,  as  he  emerged 
from  his  cabin,  a  Greek  athlete  from  the  neck 
down,  a  fuzzy  bath-towel  about  his  thighs. 
"How  do  you  expect  a  long  suffering  chap  to 
get  any  sleep,  you  kids?  'Morning,  Coonie! 
Chin,  chin.  Scout!" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  137 

•Both  youngsters  drew  themselves  up  and 
saluted,  Boy  Scout  fashion,  and  Pepper,  with 
a  grin,  returned  the  salutation  twice,  once  with 
the  Service,  once  with  the  Scout  salute. 

"When  you  going  to  organize.  Doctor?"  the 
Black  boy  asked. 

"Now,  if  not  sooner,  Scout  Husky,"  the 
cheerful  Pepper  flung  back.  "It  will  be  loads 
of  fun.  I  feel  like  a  kid  about  it,  honestly  I 
do.  Haven't  been  as  thrilled  since  I  got  my 
commission.  We  organize  this  afternoon. 
Time,  five-thirty.  Place,  your  brother  Philip's 
farm.  The  other  boys  all  know  about  it,  and 
so  do  you  now.  I'd  have  sent  you  word,  only 
I  knew  you'd  be  around  here  with  the  bum- 
boat — that's  Navy  slang  for  the  little  harbor 
craft  that  come  along  side  of  a  battleship  to 
sell  stuff,  Coonie." 

"Sure,  I  know.  Billy  told  me.  Phil  says  I 
must'nt  let  up  in  my  work  when  I  join  the 
Scouts,"  this  last  with  some  gloom. 

"Huh!"  from  Billy.  "You  wouldn't  be  a 
real  scout  if  you  did.  Would  he,  Pep — I  mean 
Dr.  Sloan?" 

"Of  course  not.  We're  organizing  this 
troop  for  work.  Farm  work,  field  work,  mus- 
cle work  and  brain  work — heart  work  too,  I 
hope.  All  Governmental  work,  too,  with  the 
august  eyes  of  the  S.  G.  and  our  own  K.  O." 
(Service  slang  for  Surgeon  General  and  Com- 
manding Ofiicer,  respectively)  upon  us.    The 


138  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

K.  O.  is  with  us,  and  as  to  the  S.  G.,  why,  boys, 
Washington  has  a  chronic  hypermetropia  (far 
sightedness,  you  know)  that  would  make  de 
Schweinitz  green  with  envy,  a  boon  to  any 
eye  cHnic  in  the  world.  Washington  sees  near 
and  far,  I  can  tell  you." 

"List  to  my  tale,  old  son.  Once  upon  a  time, 
about  eight  months  ago,  just  after  I  was  in 
the  Service,  Spot  Welford's  papa  sent  him  a 
great  big  check,  and  so  he  and  I  clubbed  in 
together  and  bought  a  flivver  runabout.  We 
were  stationed  at  San  Francisco  at  the  time. 
You'd  have  thought  that  was  a  good,  safe  dis- 
tance from  Washington,  wouldn't  you?  Not 
so,  for  the  Surgeon  General's  eye  was  upon  us, 
A  chap  named  Tuft,  a  P.  A.,  was  in  on  the  deal, 
too.  Washington  squints  Frisco-wards,  and 
grins  an  official  grin.  *Huh!'  it  grunts,  'those 
boys  must  think  they  are  going  to  live  at  the 
Pacific  station,  buying  automobiles  that  way. 
What  ho !  my  jolly  head  of  the  Personnel,  show 
them  their  proper  places,  and  strafe  them  like 
the  foolish  young  cubs  they  are.  Just  like  an 
Assistant  Surgeon's  nerve,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  Past  Assistant's,  isn't  it.  Mister  Personnel- 
man?'  Well,  what  happened?  The  P.  A.  is  in 
Honolulu,  I  got  New  Orleans,  and  Spot  came 
across  to  Delaware  Breakwater,  where  he 
joined  his  ship,  the  revenue  cutter  Onandaga. 
Now,  we  are  here  on  field  work,  Spot  and  I, 
and  the  P.  A.  has  moved  on  to  the  Philipines — 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  139 

and  the  flivver?  Well,  the  flivver  may  be  back 
with  Papa  Ford  in  Detroit,  for  all  I  know." 

"But  what  about  our  sanitary  work,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  scout  stuff?"  Billy  asked,  laugh- 
ing, but  a  bit  impatient. 

"It  is  humming,  old  son,  like  the  merriest  of 
Maeterlinck's  bees,"  Pepper  replied.  "It's  just 
"bee-yu-tiful",  to  use  your  own  words,  Billy. 
The  Chief  tells  me  that  the  Honorable,  the  Sec- 
retary of  War,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Honor- 
able, the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  (jolly  good 
friends  to  our  Service,  the  Navy,  especially 
their  S.  G.,  Dr.  Braistead)  is  at  this  moment 
wailing  most  dismally  for  properly  sanitated 
training  camps  for  the  men  who  come  in  on 
that  June  Registration  Act,  willy  nilly,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  General  Pershing,  and 
General  Sibert — the  man  that  built  the  great 
Gatun  dam  on  the  Isthmus,  Coonie — are 
calling  lustily  over  the  waves  for  more  troops, 
and  more  troops,  and  more  troops." 

"Gee,  but  it'll  be  big  work,  won't  it?"  the 
scout  cried  proudly.  "Bet  our  South  Carolina 
camps  won't  have  any  of  the  malaria-typhoid 
disgraces  in  'em  that  they  had  during  the  Span- 
ish-American war  back  in  '98!  Golly,  but  we're 
lucky  to  have  a  world  famous  sanitarian,  like 
the  Chief,  to  show  us  things — and  such  a  peach 
of  a  Scout  Master  to  boss  us!"  this  last  with 
a  funny  little  grin,  half  impish  and  half  shy. 

"Thanks  for  them  kind  words,  Billy  Scout," 


140  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Pepper  laughed,  though  he  blushed  a  little  too, 
for  Billy's  open  adoration  for  this  pink  and 
white,  freckled  young  officer  was  an  open  fact 
in  camp  that  touched  the  very  nicest  side  of 
Pepper's  character,  though  he  felt  a  little 
teased  about  it,  too.  "We'll  all  do  our  best  to 
make  the  camps  that  will  make  the  men  that 
will  make  Pershing's  soldier  boys.  Won't  we, 
Scouts  all?" 

"You  just  bet  we  will!"  from  Coonie  Black, 
with  enthusiasm.  "Good-bye,  Scout  Master. 
I  got  to  hustle.  So  long,  Billy!"  and  once  more 
saluting,  he  drove  off,  whistling  cheerfully. 
Suddenly  he  pulled  up. 

"Whoa!"  he  called.  "Yay,  Scout!  Ain't 
that  Van  Lear  Cubb  a  nice  little  boy?  Told 
Phil  yesterday  morning  that  *hoi  polloi'  bored 
him — that's  Greek,  but  I  bet  a  jit  Van'  don't 
know  it.  I'm  just  crazy  about  that  kid  myself!" 

Billy  laughed. 

"Crazy  in  the  head  with  the  heat,  you  mean! 
Isn't  he.  Dr.  Sloan?  Why  that  boy  just  don't 
care  what  he  says!  Look  out,  or  Van  Lear 
may  lick  you,  Coonie,  old  Scout!" 

"Like  fun  he  will !"  the  chubby  huckster  boy 
flung  over  his  shoulder  as  he  drove  off.  "Say, 
Scout,  give  Van  my  love,  will  you?"  and  he 
disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  while  Pepper 
raced  off  toward  the  swimming  hole,  Billy 
Hoover  at  his  heels,  stripping  as  he  ran  along. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"Dauntless  the  slug-horn  to  my  lips  I  set 

And  blew — 'Childe  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came.' " 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 


**Weary  among  the  Arctic  storms, 
On  gallant  Grenfell's  service  lent — 

Those  were  big  times,  a  brave  heart  warms, 
To  think  of  all  our  Service  meant." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 


FIRST  AID 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  or  "Coffee" 
as  the  Chief  loved  to  call  it,  after  his  many 
years  in  the  tropics,  and  while  Billy  was  busy 
washing  the  dishes,  young  Van  Lear  walked 
into  the  kitchen  and  at  once  began  to  talk  bel- 
ligerently, his  face  so  flushed  that  the  freckles 
quite  disappeared. 

"I  heard  what  you  and  that  vegetable  pedlar 
said  about  me,"  he  flared  angrily. 

*'0h,  I'm  sorry,  honest  I  am,"  the  scout  cried 
sincerely,  though  he  stood  his  ground  sturdily 
enough.  "Indeed,  Van,  we  didn't  mean  to  hurt 
your  feelings,  and — " 

141 


142  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Well,  you're  a  fresh  lot.  Like  all  Boy 
Scouts,  and  you  just  watch  me  get  even,  that's 
all.  That  fatty's  not  worth  a  licking,  but  I  bet 
I  get  even,  all  the  same." 

"Now  look  here,"  the  scout  interrupted  still 
patient,  though  his  eyes  narrowed  dangerous- 
ly. "I  guess  we  were  sort  of  fresh,  and  pretty 
unkind  too  in  what  we  said,  but  you've  been 
ever  so  rude  to  us.  Van.  Downright  tough,  I 
call  it.  It  w^asn't  very  nice  of  you  to  tell  Phil 
Black  that  'hoi  poUoi'  bored  you,  and  a  real 
boy's  got  no  business  getting  bored  anyway." 

"Why,  he  didn't  know  who  hoi  polloi  were, 
not  for  a  minute." 

"No,  but  Coonie  did — he  can  read  Theocri- 
tus some,  which  is  more  than  I  can  do." 

"Well,  I'll  be  durned !"  Van  flushed  uncom- 
fortably. "I  never  had  an  idea  of  that,  but," 
doggedly,  "I'll  get  even,"  and  he  marched  out 
looking  very  sulky. 

Wardy  came  in  just  then,  and  walking 
straight  up  to  Billy,  told  him  like  a  man,  of 
his  escapade  with  Gopher  Bean,  while  the 
scout's  hand  rested  firmly  on  his  shoulder  with 
all  his  old  affection,  as  he  talked,  so  that  he 
felt  comforted  and,  for  the  first  time  in  months, 
entirely  at  peace. 

"I  think  you're  just  splendid,  Wardy,"  Billy 
said  admiringly,  "and  I  hope  I  would  have  been 
man  enough  to  do  like  you  have  done,  and  own 
up,  if  I  had  been  in  your  place.    It's  just  great 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  143 

you  told  me  this  morning,  'cause  you'll  feel 
lots  more  like  getting  down  to  scout  work  this 
afternoon.  Gee,  you  old  tow-head,  you'll  make 
a  dandy  Patrol  Leader.  I'm  going  to  ask  Pep- 
per to  let  me  be  in  your  Patrol,  as  Assistant 
Patrol  Leader,  if  you  want  to  have  me." 

"Billy!"  Wariield's  eyes  wert  big  and  misty 
with  all  the  old  friendliness.  "You  must  think 
I'm  crazy.  You  be  Assistant  Patrol  Leader, 
under  me!  Why,  fellow,  you've  taught  me  all 
I  know  about  the  Scouts,  and — and — ,"  a  break 
in  his  voice,  "about  being  a  man,  too.  A — a 
boy  just  has  to  be  decent  if  he  chums  with  you, 
Billy.  You've  got  to  be  Senior  Patrol  Leader 
of  our  Troop,  and — and  just  you  let  me  be  in 
your  Patrol,  you  dear  old  scout,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  now,  Wardy,"  Billy  smiled,  "I'm  Pa- 
trol Leader  in  the  Bull  Dogs,  when  I  get  back 
to  Charleston  this  Fall,  but  you're  the  boy  that 
Pepper  has  had  his  eye  on  for  Senior  of  his 
troop  for  ever  so  long.  I — I  don't  want  to 
hurt  your  feelings,  Wardy,  but  Pepper  said 
that  if  you  could  go  through  a  trial  like  this, 
and  be  man  enough  to  own  up  you — you  stole 
something,  and  were  sorry  for  it,  when  you 
had  a  way  out  through  Van's  help,  that  he'd 
just  know  you  were  spunky  enough  for  any- 
thing, from  a  Boy  Scout  to  a  Field  Marshal. 
You're  not  mad,  are  you  Wardy?"  for  the 
smaller  boy's  face  had  flushed  deeply  w^th 
shame. 


144  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Yes,  I  am,  but  I  won't  let  go,"  he  flung  back 
sturdily.  Then  he  grinned  a  little.  "A  Boy- 
Scout  ought  not  to  be  getting  mad  all  the  time, 
like  I  do.  You  hold  on  a  lot,  Billy,  though  I 
have  seen  you  mad  once.  I'm  through  with 
Van.  He's  a  cad,  and  he  can  keep  his  Rem- 
ington sixteen.  I — I  sure  did  want  that  gun, 
though.  Honest  I  did,  Billy.  But  I'm  through 
with  Van." 

"Well,  I'm  not,  and  I  don't  believe  you  are 
either.  Buster  and  Pepper  Sloan  talked  to  me 
about  him,  down  in  the  swimming  hole  this 
morning,  and  they  say  we  ought  to  make  a 
scout  out  of  him.  He's  got  a  dandy  body  for 
a  scout  you  know.  Tough  as  anything  all 
over."  Then  with  a  sigh,  "I  think  he's  the 
freshest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  knickers,  myself, 
but — well,  we've  got  to  give  him  a  chance, 
scoutlike.  It  would  be  heaps  more  fun  to  punch 
his  head  for  him,  though.  It  needs  punching, 
Wardy.  Came  in  here  just  now  and  read  the 
riot  act.  'Course  he  had  a  right  to  be  mad, 
'cause  Coonie  and  I  did  talk  pretty  rough  about 
him  this  morning,  but  he  must  have  been  spy- 
ing around,  or  he'd  never  have  heard  it.  I 
wouldn't  hurt  any  fellow's  feelings,  if  I  could 
help  it,  but  I  never  knew  that  Van  was  out  of 
his  bunk  at  the  time." 

Wardy's  was  a  tough,  rugged  small  nature, 
that  hated  a  compromise  of  all  things  on  earth 
— "Off  with  the  bad,  and  on  with  the  good" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  I45 

being  his  motto,  and  the  idea  of  helping  the 
bad  to  become  good  was  hard  for  him  to  un- 
derstand,  but  he  was  too  fond  of  the  scout  just 
now  not  to  be  wiUing  to  help  him  to  his  utmost. 
Anything  to  be  one  with  the  clean,  jolly  life 
of  the  Service  fellows  at  Camp  Ross! 

About  ten  o'clock,  therefore,  he  climbed  into 
Van's  Pathfinder  along  with  Don  and  its 
owner,  and  waved  a  friendly  good-bye  to  the 
only  two  olive  drab  figures  left  at  the  camp, 
Buster  and  the  scout. 

Van  Lear,  at  the  wheel,  brought  the  car  out 
of  the  clearing  and  into  the  road  in  a  short, 
skilful  sweep  and  then,  yelHng  a  hearty,  "So 
long,  Buster!"  to  the  Assistant  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral's son,  and  ignoring  the  scout  all  together, 
threw  his  gear  into  high,  and  sped  away  in  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

After  a  few  minutes  they  swung  around  a 
curve  and  saw  in  front  of  them,  about  half  a 
mile  off,  a  huckster's  wagon,  drawn  by  two 
small,  very  sleek  mules,  moving  at  a  slow  trot. 

"Hullo,  that's  Coonie  Black!"  Warfield 
laughed.  "The  old  boy's  making  f or^  over  on 
Sago,  I  bet,  to  finish  selHng  his  stuff." 

"Oh,  that's  Coonie  Black,  is  it?"  Van  asked, 
his  eyes  narrowing  vvnth  anger.  "Watch  me 
scare  the  life  out  of  him." 

'You'll  have  the  toughest  job  you  ever  tack- 
led, if  you  try  it,"  Wardy  jibed,  but  the  next 
second    he    turned    very    white,    and   looked 


146  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

scared,  for  the  car,  in  answer  to  a  light  pres- 
sure from  Van's  foot,  began  to  shoot  through 
the  short  space  between  the  car  and  the  wagon 
at  a  speed  that  sent  the  breeze  whipping 
around  the  windshield  in  a  gale. 

"Oh,  I  say.  Van — Sound  your  horn!  Van! 
Quick!"  Wardy  cried  in  dismay,  reaching  over 
Don,  who  was  in  the  middle,  for  the  automatic 
button. 

"Oh,  sit  still,  Wardy,"  Van  laughed.  "I'm 
just  going  to  whiz  by  his  old  mules  and  graze 
them  a  little.  I  won't  hurt  anything,  only  scare 
him  to  death.  A  brute  like  that  needs  to  know 
his  place.     I — " 

A  scream  from  Don,  a  quick  exclamation 
from  the  huckster  boy  as  he  tried  to  pull  his 
team  to  one  side  of  the  road,  and  then  a  splin- 
tering, tearing  sound,  mingled  with  the  shat- 
tering of  glass  and  the  crushing  of  metal  and 
then  stillness,  for  Van,  in  trying  to  keep 
Wardy  from  sounding  his  horn,  had  thrown 
his  stearing  gear  a  little  too  far  to  the  left,  so 
that  the  on-rushing  car  had  struck  the  wagon 
at  its  front,  killing  one  of  the  poor,  little  mules, 
while  the  other  plunged  to  get  free  of  its  har- 
ness, dragging  the  broken  wagon  and  the 
crushed  machine  for  some  distance,  until  he 
stumbled  in  the  tangle  of  harness  and  fell. 

Warfield,  with  a  long  cut  in  his  scalp,  and 
with  a  burning  pain  in  his  shoulder  that  made 
him  gasp,  but  otherwise  unhurt,  was  the  first 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  147 

to  get  to  his  legs,  and  with  the  quickness  of  a 
farm  boy,  his  first  act  was  to  run  to  the  wagon 
and  cut  the  leather  traces,  so  that  the  frightened 
mule  could  be  free  and  would  stop  kicking,  for, 
crumpled  up  at  the  side  of  the  wagon,  one  foot 
caught  in  the  break-jam,  and  hanging  head 
downwards  in  a  forlorn  heap,  was  the  stout 
huckster  boy,  his  eyes  closed,  his  face  chalky, 
under  his  dusty,  blood-matted  brown  hair, 
from  a  cut  he  had  got  as  his  head  struck  on 
some  stone  while  he  was  being  dragged.  He 
adored  his  little  mules,  poor  boy,  and  he 
had  tried  to  jump  out  to  save  them. 

Wardy  tried  to  lift  him,  but  he  was  much 
too  heavy  for  the  tow-headed  youngster  to 
handle  alone,  so  the  best  to  be  done  was  to 
loosen  the  break-jam,  and  let  him  slip  gently 
to  the  roadside,  Wardy's  arms  supporting  his 
weight.  Luckily  for  all  concerned.  Mammy 
Lou,  had  supplied  her  darling  "Li'l  Marse"  on 
the  previous  day  with  no  less  than  three  clean 
handkerchiefs  and,  though  no  longer  clean, 
with  the  exception  of  one,  they  were  at  least 
bandages  of  some  sort.  Taking  the  best  of  the 
three,  Wardy  folded  it,  rather  clumsily,  but 
the  very  best  he  knew  how,  and  pressed  it  in  a 
sort  of  pad  over  the  cut  in  the  hucksters  boy's 
head.  He  wished  most  awfully  that  he  knew 
more  about  First  Aid,  but  it  was  one  branch 
that  his  young  instructor  in  scoutcraft,  Billy 
Hoover,  avoided  as  the  devil  does  holy  water. 


148  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Still,  with  his  small  knowledge  taken  into  con- 
sideration, Warfield  was  doing  the  best  he 
could.  He  was  coatless,  but  he  managed  to 
slip  out  of  his  sport  shirt,  during  which  pro- 
cess his  shoulder  muscle  felt  as  if  the  ghost  of 
the  departed  mule  was  tugging  at  it,  and  folded 
it,  and  slipped  it  gently,  if  awkwardly,  under 
the  other  boy's  head.  Then  he  began  to  look 
for  the  other  boys. 

He  found  Van  standing  in  the  road  behind 
his  crushed  Pathfinder,  crying  silently,  not 
even  raising  his  hands  to  his  face  to  hide  the 
big  tears  that  tumbled  down  it.  In  fact,  he 
was  too  shaken  and  too  unhappy  just  now  to 
know  that  he  was  crying.  He  was  trembling 
a  little,  and  looked  ill,  but  beyond  many 
bruises,  he  seemed  quite  unhurt. 

"Are  you  hurt.  Van?"  Wardy  demanded 
breathlessly. 

'1  don't  know,  but  I  hope  so.  I  ought  to  be 
dead." 

"Where's  Don?" 

"He  is  dead,  I  think.  There,  way  across  the 
road,  in  that  ditch,  where  the  car  must  have 
tossed  him.  And — and  I  killed  him — Oh,  God 
help  me,  God  please  help  me!" 

"He's— he's  not  dead  at  all!"  Wardy 
grunted,  without  being  at  all  sure  he  was  right, 
and,  after  a  look  at  the  Httle  heap  of  a  red 
headed  small  boy  in  a  white  Norfolk  suit,  he 
felt  so  scared  that  he  shivered  as  a  great  wave 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  149 

of  nausea  swept  over  him.  "Come  on  and  help 
me  Hft  him  out  of  that  ditch,  Van.  Aw,  wake 
up,  for  goodness  sake.'' 

"I — I  can't  go  over  there,  Wardy,"  Van 
blurted  out  miserably,  a  big  sob  breaking  from 
him,  though  he  was  trying  hard  now  not  to 
cry.  "I — I  killed  Don — and  I've  been  so  mean 
to  him!  so  mean  to  him!" 

"You  make  me  awful  sick!"  Wardy  flared, 
loosing  his  temper  promptly.  "What's  eating 
you,  anyway?  Gee,  I  wish  you  were  a  man. 
Van  Lear  Cubb!  Come  on,  I  tell  you!"  Wardy 
ran  to  the  other  side  of  the  road  and  flung  him- 
self into  the  ditch,  on  his  knees,  lifting  Don's 
head  onto  his  lap.  "He  ain't  dead,  no  such  a 
thing,"  he  said,  quite  crossly.  "But  there's 
something  wrong  about  him.  Something 
busted  inside,  I  reckon.  Hold  on,  Donny,  you 
know  old  Wardy  wouldn't  hurt  you.  Don't 
look  so  funny.  Please  don't,  Don.  GoUy-day 
man !  I  b'lieve  he  is  dead,  after  all.  Why  he's 
as  white  as  Billy  Hoover  in  swimming!" 

"I  said  I'd  killed  him,"  Van  whispered  brok- 
enly, gazing  down  at  them  from  the  top  of  the 
ditch. 

"Shut  up,  or  I'll  climb  right  out  and  punch 
your  head!"  Wardy  blazed,  mad  all  over,  as 
he  glared  up  at  the  older  lad  above  him  and 
tenderly  wiped  the  sw^eat  off  Don's  face  at  the 
same  time.  "I  want  to  get  hold  of  my  scout 
whistle,  but  my — my  blamed  arm,  or  shoulder, 


150  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

or  something  hurts  so  bad  I — I  just  can't  make 
it.  Come  on  down  here  before  I  lick  you,  and 
reach  it  out  for  me.  It's  on  the  inside  of  my 
undershirt,  right  next  to  my  skin,  and  all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  pull  it  up  by  that  lanyard 
'round  my  neck." 

Van  jumped  down  into  the  ditch  and  got  the 
whistle,  and  Wardy,  gripping  the  flat  metal 
mouthpiece  between  his  white  teeth,  sent  out 
a  shriek  of  sound  over  the  warmness  of  woods 
and  meadows  about  him,  first  the  three  short 
blasts  followed  by  the  one  long  one,  for  "Patrol 
Leaders  come  here,"  and  then  the  agitated, 
staccato  screams  of  alarm,  very  short,  loud 
blasts,  the  call  of  a  scout  who  begs  for  imme- 
diate aid — "Rally — Come  at  once." 

Far  away,  and  so  faint  that  it  sounded  like 
a  dream  whistle,  came  back  two  short,  clear- 
cut  blasts  from  the  direction  of  Camp  Ross, 
the  sign  that  a  whistle  message  has  been  re- 
ceived and  understood,  and  Wardy,  taking 
Van's  coat  and  rolling  it  into  a  pillow  for  Don, 
climbed  heavily  from  the  ditch,  and  pressing 
his  last  handkerchief  over  the  cut  on  his  own 
head,  he  grinned  rather  shakily. 

"Billy's  coming.  Van!  So  I  don't  care. 
We're  all  right.  Now,  help  me  with  Don  when 
I  tell  you.  Aw,  if  I  got  as  scared  as  you  do, 
I'd  get  me  a  nurse.  Honest  I  would.  My 
Buster-bunny's  got  more  nerve  than  you! 
Great  Scots,  you're  crying  again!     Can't  you 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  151 

quit  for  five  minutes  ?  Well,  holler  away,  then ! 
Fm  going  to  see  if  I  can  do  anything  more  for 
poor  old  Coonie.  Oh,  I  wish  I  really  knew 
something  about  First  Aid!  Me  and  Coonie 
would  have  been  scouts  together  this  after- 
noon, if — if — gee,  I  could  lick  you  good.  Van!" 

He  stumbled  over  to  the  wrecked  wagon  and 
dropped  on  his  knees  at  the  huckster  boy's  side, 
finding  him  just  as  he  had  left  him,  huddled  in 
the  dust,  a  dreadful  little  pool  of  blood  at  his 
head;  much  more  blood  than  had  been  there 
before.  Wardy  lifted  him  a  little,  and  the  boy 
moaned  with  pain. 

"Come  here,  you  lummox!''  Wardy  cried, 
angry  and  frightened.  "Come  here,  Van,  and 
just  take  a  look  at  some  more  of  your  day's 
work!" 

"Fll  stay  by  my  kid  brother,  Warfield,"  Van 
called  back,  his  voice  at  last  perfectly  steady. 

"Well,  I  don't  care  much  where  you  stay!" 
Wardy  growled.  "You  talk  about  killing  Don. 
Well,  I  believe  you  have  killed  this  kid,  and  if 
you  have,  Fll  punch  your  head,  see  if  I  don't. 
Aw,  Gee !  What's  happening  now,"  for  he  had 
removed  the  pad  of  handkerchief,  now  very 
wet,  from  the  older  boy's  head,  in  order 
to  replace  it  by  the  one  from  his  own,  and  he 
saw  very  red  blood  spurting  up  in  little  jets, 
with  the  exact  precision  of  a  watch's  tick,  so 
he  slapped  his  own  pad  over  the  cut  quickly. 

He  w^as  badly  scared  now,  but  he  felt  he 


152  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

must  do  his  best  until  Billy  should  arrive  with 
his  small  Red  Cross  kit,  that  all  properly  equip- 
ped scouts  have  v^ith  them  all  the  time,  so  he 
pressed  the  handkerchief  tightly  over  the 
other  boy's  wound,  only  stopping  now  and 
then  to  glare  under  the  wagon  body  at  Van, 
or  to  raise  one  arm  to  brush  away  the  drops  of 
blood  that  now  and  then  trickled  in  a  dull  stain 
from  his  own  tow  head  over  his  forehead  and 
into  his  eyes. 

At  last  the  far  off  "chug"  of  a  motorcycle 
could  be  heard,  and,  a  couple  of  minutes  later, 
it  swept  into  sight,  around  the  curve.  On  the 
seat  sat  the  scout,  his  face  white  and  set  anx- 
iously, his  scout  hat  crammed  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and,  better  sight  still  at  this  time, 
was  Buster,  clinging  cheerfully  on  the  extra 
seat  behind,  his  "plume"  fluffing  like  a  golden 
oriflame  as  the  wind  played  through  his  un- 
covered hair.  He  did  not  look  at  all  anxious, 
and  was  as  pink  and  wholesome  as  usual,  but 
he  did  look  deeply  interested  and  efficiently 
purposeful — every  inch  of  his  hard  training 
showing  in  his  cheerful  coolness — a  real  Red 
Cross  man. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"In  drippin*  darkness,  far  and  near, 

All  night  I've  sought  them  woeful  ones. 
Dawn  shudders  up,  and  still  I  'ear 

The  crimson  chorus  of  the  guns. 
Look !    like  a  ball  of  blood,  the  sun 

'Angs  o'er  the  scene  of  wrath  and  wrong  .  .  . 
'Quick !     Stretcher-bearers,  on  the  run  !' 

0  Prince  of  Peace!    'Ow  long/ow  longT' 

ROBERT  SERVICE. 

"All  that  was  truest,  kindest,  best  he  gave  us. 

Shared  his  few  joys. 
Always  his  wise,  paternal  arm  to  save  us 

All  we,  'his  boys.'  " 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  RED  CROSS  MAN 

"Anybody  hurt?''  was  Billy  Hoover's  first 
remark,  to  be  followed  by  "Gee!  It's  First 
Aid  work!"  with  the  most  wretched  gloom,  as 
he  and  Buster  flung  themselves  from  the 
motorcycle  and  hurried  toward  the  wreckage 
of  the  machine. 

"All  of  a  bit  of  a  mess,  isn't  it?"  Buster  re- 
marked cheerfully,  as  he  strode  forward,  past 
the  scout.  "Hello,  this  does  look  bad,  though!" 

153 


154  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

becoming  grave,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Wardy, 
with  the  huckster  boy's  head  in  his  lap.  "Poor, 
old  Wardy!  Pretty  badly  shaken  up,  old 
fellow?" 

"Yes,  I  am,  Buster,"  Warfield  answered,  his 
eyes  filling  for  the  first  time.  "It's  been — just 
awful.  You  see  it  happened  this  way.  That 
idiot  of  a  Van — " 

"I  don't  care  how  it  happened,  Wardy,"  Bus- 
ter interrupted,  as  he  knelt  down  by  his  side. 
"French  or  Hun,  all  one,  you  know.  Take 
off  that  pad  from  his  head,  please.  Easy,  easy ! 
Hot  dog!  He's  bleeding  like  the  dickens,  but 
I  never  saw  a  wound  about  the  head  yet,  that 
wasn't  a  perfect  slop!  You  poor,  little  kid, 
your  own  head  is  bloody,  too.  I'll  take  a  look 
at  it  in  a  second.  There's  some  little  artery  cut 
in  two  in  Coonie's  scalp.  Blood's  too  red  for 
anything  else,  and  look  how  it  spurts!  Hi, 
Billy,  bring  me  that  First  Aid  kit.  On  the  run, 
old  Scout." 

"I  can't  come.  Buster,"  in  a  perfectly  steady 
voice  from  Billy.  "I'm  busy  over  here.  Van, 
take  this  kit  to  Buster,  right  quick,  please." 

"Thanks,  Kamarad!"  from  Buster,  as  he 
took  the  small  package,  already  opened.  "Now, 
where  the  dickens ! — Oh,  here  you  are !"  pick- 
ing up  a  fold  of  sterile  gauze  at  one  corner  and, 
with  an  expert  shake,  whipping  it  out  into  a 
flat  pad.  "Just  what  I  want.  God  bless  the 
women  that  fold  this  stuff  for  immediate  use! 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  155 

Now,  Wardy,  reach  in  my  hip  pocket  and  you'll 
find  a  clean  handkerchief.    A  nice,  big  one,  too. 
That's  it.    Soon  as  I  get  this  bleeding  stopped, 
I  want  you  to  help  me  strip  him  off  so  I  can  see 
if  he's  hurt  anywhere  else,  externally.     Inter- 
nal injuries  are  not  for  a  Red  Cross  man  to 
play  with.   That's  the  doctor's  business.  Never 
try  to  do  too  much.     Van,  take  that  flat  leather 
seat  out  of  the  wagon,  and  put  it  on  the  ground 
here.     I  can't  help  either  of  3^ou,  for  I've  got 
to  keep  up  this  pressure,  you  see.     Good  boy. 
Van.      Now,    Wardy,  open  my  handkerchief, 
and  then  fold  it  once,  to  make  a  triangle,  so 
the  point  is  toward  you.       See  that  straight 
line,  at  the  base,  away  from  the  point?    Good. 
Fold  her  over  in  a  two  inch  hem.    Fine !    Now, 
fold  the  point  of  the  triangle,  opposite  the  hem, 
about  five  inches,  underneath,  and  lay  it  on  our 
sick  boy's  head,  with  the  hem  just  above  his 
eyebrows."    Slipping  his  hand  from  under  this 
homemade  bandage,  where  he  had  been  press- 
ing the  sterile  gauze  pad  in  place,  he  squinted 
at  the  two  ends  of  the  handkerchief  that  hung 
down  over  the  huckster  boy's  ears,  and  care- 
fully pleated  them  into  four  neat  little  folds 
that  lay  quite  smoothly,  as  he  brought  the  ends 
around  the  head,  crossed  their  points  at  the 
back  and  brought  them  at  last  to  the  front,  ty- 
ing them  firmly  in  the  middle  of  the  boy's  fore- 
head.   "Now,  that  ought  to  hold  that  pad  good 
and  firm  underneath,  and  control  the  bleeding 


1S6  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

until  we  can  get  him  into  camp.  Let's  see  if 
he's  hurt  anywhere  else." 

After  stripping  off  the  unconscious  boy's 
clothes,  and  looking  him  over  carefully,  Bus- 
ter grunted  his  satisfaction  that  he  was,  "quite 
in  the  pink,"  except  for  a  bruised,  and  slightly 
bleeding  right  foot,  w^here  the  break-jam  had 
caught  it. 

*'We'll  just  leave  that  foot  alone,"  he  said. 
"Better  not  bandage  it,  even,  for  there's  very 
little  bleeding,  and  whenever  you  can  leave  a 
wound  open  to  the  air,  do  it.  That's  how  they 
are  treating  all  sorts  of  wounds  over  in  France, 
and  Pepper  says  it's  the  same  way  in  Great 
Britain.  He  was  over  there,  inspecting  base 
hospitals  for  our  Government  just  before  he 
was  ordered  on  field  work  with  Dad.  He  said 
the  surgical  hospitals  looked  more  like  our 
tuberculosis  camps  than  anything  else.  Wide 
open  to  the  south  all  the  time,  and  when  pos- 
sible, open  on  all  sides,  with  the  wounds 
dressed  to  let  them  get  the  air  as  much  as  they 
could.  Sterile  gauze  padding  around  them, 
held  in  place  as  a  rule  with  strips  of  adhesive, 
but  only  one  layer  of  gauze  over  them,  nary 
a  bandage  anywhere.  No,  we'll  let  that  foot 
alone.  Just  lift  up  his  leg.  Van,  and  rest  the 
heel  on  that  wagon  hub  so  it  will  stay  elevated. 
That's  the  boy.  Of  course  if  there  is  lots  of 
bleeding,  like  this  scalp  wound  here,  you've  just 
got  to  pack  it  and  keep  it  covered.     I  crammed 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  157 

the  palm  of  my  hand,  one  time,  dirt  and  all, 
into  a  gap  in  a  German  Uhlan's  neck,  to  keep 
him  from  bleeding  to  death.  Have  to  do  it 
in  a  case  like  that.  Don't  worry  about  bring- 
ing our  boy  to,  Wardy.  He's  just  fainted,  and 
he'll  suffer  lots  less  this  way.  Now,  how  about 
3^ourself.  Anything  except  that  head?  That's 
clotted  of  itself,  and  I'd  rather  leave  it  for  one 
of  the  doctors  to  fix  properly.  Always  do  just 
as  little  as  you  can  get  along  with  in  First  Aid. 
That's  one  big  thing  w^e  learnt  in  the  trenches. 
Leave  it  to  the  M.  D.  at  the  nearest  "poste  de 
secour" — at  Camp  Ross,  I  mean.  You  say 
your  shoulder's  hurt?  Let's  take  a  look  at  it. 
Let  me  slit  that  gauze  shirt  with  my  knife,  and 
it  won't  hurt  you  getting  it  off.  Huh! 
Sprained,  I  guess,  or  something  like  that.  The 
two  shoulders  look  as  square  and  jolly  as 
usual,  you  young  husky.  Same  length,  and  all, 
so  nothing  is  out  of  place.  Mighty  glad,  old 
man." 

"Please — Buster — if — I  mean  will  you  please 
look  at  Don  now?" 

"Sure,  Van?    Is  he  hurt  much?" 

"I— I  think  he's  dead." 

"Shoo-00!  Get  out!  A  twelve-year-old's 
got  a  bulldog  grip  on  life,  boy.  Where  is  he?" 
and,  getting  to  his  legs,  he  followed  Van  Lear 
quickly,  wiping  the  blood  from  his  hand  quite 
calmly  on  the  leg  of  his  olive  drab  pants. 

Once  at  the  bottom  of  the  ditch,  he  took  a 


158  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

quick  look  at  the  small  boy,  now  naked  to  his 
waist  where  the  scout  had  stripped  off  his 
white  Norfolk  jacket  and  shirt  with  the  help 
of  the  knife  that  always  hung  from  one  of  his 
belt  hooks. 

''Why — what  the  dickens!"  he  frowned. 
Then  he  laid  one  hand  over  the  child's  breast, 
to  the  left,  and  gave  a  big  sigh  of  relief.  Plac- 
ing the  same  hand  now  on  Billy's  olive  drab 
shoulder  firmly,  he  spoke  again.  "You're  all 
sorts  of  a  trump,  Billy  Hoover,"  he  said  with 
the  proud  aft'ection  of  a  father.  "Keep  your 
hand  right  where  it  is,  close  up  under  his  arm- 
pit. Got  anything  between  it  and  his  skin? 
And  say,  could  you  see  what  sort  of  a  wound 
it  was,  or  was  there  too  much  blood?"  and  to 
himself,  "Why,  the  kid  isn't  even  pale  now, 
he's  as  interested  as — as  I  am." 

Billy,  his  arms  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  the 
right  hand  and  wrist  smeared  with  as  much 
blood  as  a  surgeon's,  looked  up  gravely,  and 
smiled  his  relief  at  seeing  Buster  at  hand.  His 
mouth  was  set,  his  round  face  very  earnest,  but 
his  whole  heavy  set  body  was  perfectly  quiet 
and  stolid. 

"It's  a  gash,  a  tear,  very  jagged  you  know, 
running  right  under  his  armpit,  and  half  way 
down  his  right  side,  between  the  armpit  and 
his  breast,"  he  explained,  looking  up  at  Buster 
and  passing  one  hand  across  his  hot  face,  quite 
careless  of  the  bloody  smudge  it  left  on  his 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  159 

cheek.  "See,  all  there  where  his  right  side  is 
smeared.  I  got  some  gauze  stuffed  in  it,  and 
some  laid  over  it,  but  I  guess  it  ain't  very  ster- 
ile, 'cause  I  don't  know^  hov^  to  open  those  pads 
like  you  do.  I'm  ever  so  clumsy  at  it.  Buster. 
I  have  to  have  my  hand  on  it,  with  the  palm 
out  this  way,  to  make  pressure,  'cause  he's 
bleeding  so  terribly.  I'm  bearing  down  with 
my  other  hand,  the  left  one  you  see,  'cause  I 
can  feel  the  artery,  or  something,  jumping  and 
throbbing  under  my  thumb,  and  every  time  it 
jumps  it  means  another  spurt  of  blood." 

"Oh,  it's  a  severed  artery,  all  right,"  from 
the  perfectly  cool  Buster.  "This  boy  would 
have  bled  to  death,  I  believe,  if  you  hadn't 
had  the  sense  to  strip  him  and  see  what  was 
wrong.  Gee,  Fm  proud  of  you,  Scout!  And 
you're  the  boy  that  hates  First  Aid,  and  can't 
get  a  merit  badge  in  it.  Just  because  you  were 
never  up  against  the  real  thing,  before,  I  bet. 
Say,  have  you  got  a  real  triangle  bandage  in 
that  kit  of  yours  ?  I  only  had  one  handkerchief 
big  enough  to  do  any  good,  and  I  had  to  use 
that  on  Coonie  Black's  head.  Oh,  you  have? 
Bully!  Hand  me  that  kit,  Van.  Now,  for  pity's 
sake,  don't  faint !  There's  nothing  to  get  sick, 
that  I  can  see.  Just  some  blood,  and  some 
dirt!" 

"But — Don  looks  so  sick — and — and  white." 

"Yes,  guess  he  feels  that  way,  too.    But  you 

don't  want  him  to  get  any  sicker  or  whiter, 


i6o  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

do  you?  'Course  you  don't.  Here  we  are!  Now, 
take  your  hands  out  of  that  wound,  Billy! 
Huh!  have  to  take  a  chance  of  infection  in  a 
case  like  this!  Let's  have  a  look  at  it.  No 
chance  for  a  tourniquet  there,  you  see.  Now, 
all  the  gauze  we've  got.  Don't  mind  being 
sort  of  clumsy.  Scout.  You've  gone  through  a 
lot  already,  and  you've  done  dandy  work,  and 
you  never  belonged  to  Le  Section  Sanitaire 
Automobile  Americaine,  No.  7,  either,  like  I 
have.  Here's  one  more  time  I  can  thank  God 
for  that  training,  Billy.  I  do  thank  Him,  ever 
so.  Lay  that  gauze  on  in  layers.  Don't  think 
of  taking  out  your  packing.  I've  got  my  hands 
busy  keeping  up  pressure  on  that  severed 
artery.  No,  take  my  place.  Thanks.  Got  any 
adhesive?  Darn  it!  I  just  felt  you  wouldn't 
have!  Well,  here  goes  the  next  best  thing  so 
far  as  I  know.  Hold  that  gauze  packing  in 
place  with  your  right  hand,  and  keep  your  left 
thumb  pressing  like  you  did  before.  That's 
the  boy.    Billy,  you're  great!" 

Stooping  over  Don's  limp  little  body,  he  took 
the  big  triangular  bandage  and  placed  one 
point  over  the  boy's  left  shoulder,  the  opposite 
end  hanging  below  his  waist  Hne,  to  the  right 
side  of  his  stomach,  and  the  third  point,  op- 
posite the  base  that  ran  down  his  body,  pass- 
ing under  the  right  armpit  and  around,  so  that 
it  was  easily  tied  firmly  with  the  upper  point, 
brought  over  the  left  shoulder,  at  a  space  just 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  i6i 

between  the  small  boy's  shoulder  blades. 
Finally,  pulling  the  bandage  very  tight  indeed, 
so  much  so  that  the  white  skin  puffed  a  little 
at  its  edges,  Buster  swung  the  bottom  point 
at  an  angle,  about  four  inches  below  Don's 
breasts,  under  the  left  arm  so  that  it  joined  the 
other  two  ends  in  a  hard  knot  between  shoulder 
blades.  Then  he  became  suddenly  very  hu- 
man, and  patted  the  towseled  red  head  affec- 
tionately, while  he  took  the  boy's  pulse  at  his 
temple,  even  with  his  left  ear. 

"What  do  you  make  it,  old  son?"  came  a 
pleasantly  calm  voice  at  the  top  of  the  ditch, 
and  a  moment  later,  the  cheerful  Pepper  had 
jumped  in  beside  them. 

"Thank  goodness  for  that!"  Buster  sighed. 
"I'm  all  in,  somehov/." 

"Feeling  that  place  in  your  abdomen,  I  bet." 

"Uh-huh!  We're  not  much  of  a  Red  Cross 
man,  these  days.  Pepper.  Billy  has  been  a  host 
with  banners,  though." 

"You're  always  praising  the  other  fellow. 
Buster,"  Pepper  smiled.  "I  bet  Billy  has  done 
good  work,  though.  You  see.  Van,  my  scouts 
are  of  use  at  times.  We've  got  to  get  two 
poles,  from  somewhere  in  those  woods,  and 
make  a  stretcher.  Get  a  couple.  Van.  Billy 
will  lend  you  his  woodman's  hatchet.  It's  on 
his  belt.  Cut  'em  about  seven  feet  long.  Lend 
us  your  khaki  coat.  Buster.  That  and  my  uni- 
form blouse  will  be  all  right.     Now,  hustle, 


i62  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Van,  for  we've  got  to  get  this  kid  back  to  camp, 
pronto." 

Van,  armed  with  the  small  woodman's  hat- 
chet, ran  quickly  into  the  woods,  vaulting  a 
high,  rail  fence  quite  easily,  and  returned  in 
a  few  minutes  with  two  hickory  saplings,  trim- 
ming off  the  small  branches  as  he  came,  quite 
careless  of  the  scratches  on  his  face  from  the 
whipping  undergrowth. 

Pepper,  now  in  command,  took  the  poles 
with  a  quiet,  "Thank  you,  Van,"  and,  turning 
the  two  coats  inside  out,  so  that  the  sleeves 
were  inside,  he  put  the  poles  through  them, 
one  in  each  sleeve  hole,  with  the  bottom  end 
of  the  coats  touching.  The  poles  once  in,  he 
buttoned  the  coats  down  the  front,  the  but- 
toned side  underneath,  and  they  made  an  ex- 
cellent stretcher.  Then  springing  down  once 
more  into  the  ditch,  he  gathered  Don  into  his 
arms  and  carried  him  out  and  laid  him  on  it. 
Buster  promptly  picked  up  one  end. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Pepper  de- 
manded. 

"Going  to  help  to  carry  that  kid  back  to 
camp." 

"Not  so  you'd  know  it,  old  son,"  was  the 
cheerful  reply.  "Let  go  of  that,  you  Indian! 
You'll  be  sick  for  a  month  if  you  don't  behave. 
Billy  is  going  to  help  me.  You  run  along  on 
the  motorcycle,  and  lay  hold  of  anybody  you 
can  find  to  help  you  fix  up  some  sort  of  an  op- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  163 

crating  room,  in  one  of  the  cabins.  We'll  bring 
this  boy  in  and  then  come  back  for  the  others. 
Wardy  will  take  care  of  my  other  scout.  Good 
lord,  but  Vm  proud  of  my  boys!  Of  course 
you're  the  skilled  one,  you  old  Red  Cross  man, 
and  I  give  you  lots  of  thanks  for  your  work. 
You've  helped  Billy,  here,  to  get  that  merit 
badge  in  First  Aid,  and  a  honor  medal  in  life 
saving,  too,  I  bet.  Now,  run  ahead,  like  Tam 
O'Shanter's  w^itches  were  after  you  and  fix 
that  operating  room.  You  know  how,  prob- 
ably better  than  I,  in  this  rough  and  tumble 
work." 

"I'll  fix  it  the  best  I  know  how.  Pepper,^' 
Buster  blushed.  "Just  hang  the  walls  w4th 
sheets,  wrung  out  in  a  solution  of  one  to  one 
thousand  bichloride.  Then  scrub  a  table,  first 
with  soap,  then  with  bichloride,  and  the  fioor 
the  same  way,  with  a  sheet  under  the  table  it- 
self. Then,  boil  a  blanket  and  pad  the  table 
with  it,  and  cover  with  the  sterile  sheet.  That's 
the  best  way  I  know,  but  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
if  it  isn't  just  right." 

"Of  course  it's  all  right,  old  son,"  from  Pep- 
per. "Get  along,  now — and  don't  try  to  shame 
a  poor  little  Assistant  Surgeon  in  the  U.  S. 
Public  Health  Service,  with  your  humble  man- 
ner, you  war-trained,  aged  Red  Cross  man. 
Now,  scoot!" — and  Buster  scooted. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"To  such  a  task  we  can  dedicate  our  lives  and  our  for- 
tunes, everything  that  we  -are,  and  everything  that  we 
have,  with  the  pride  of  those  that  know  that  the  day  has 
come  when  America  is  privileged  to  spend  her  blood  and 
her  might  for  the  principles  that  gave  her  birth  and  hap- 
piness and  the  peace  which  she  has  treasured." 

From  PRESIDENT  wooDROW  wilson's  address  before 

CONGRESS,  APRIL  2ND,   I917. 

"It's  a  place   for  all  good   Service  boys  to  stay,  dear 

Buccaneer, 
Nor  again  the  Seven  Seas  we'll  have  to  roam ; 
For,  when  once  across  its  borders 
We'll  be  all  on  'Waiting  Orders,' 
And  at  last  us  Service  boys  can  stay  at  home — 

{Fancy  that!) 
We'll  have  Departmental  orders:  'Stay  at  home/  " 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  "OURS" 

Over  two  weeks  since  the  accident  on  the 
road  between  Camp  Ross  and  the  Folly  Quar- 
ters, with  August  at  the  opening  of  its  third 
w^eek,  a  hot,  sunny  Sunday  morning,  between 
nine-thirty  and  ten. 

The  entire  field  force,  both  physicians  and 
engineers,  with  their  helpers,  "dippers",  chain- 

164 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  165 

men,  and  so  forth,  are  loafing  in  peace,  the 
warm  air  soft  with  the  hazy,  blue  puffs  of  to- 
bacco smoke.  The  Chief  is  leaning  back  in  a 
low  canvas  deck-chair,  reading,  a  cigar  be- 
tween the  long  fingers  of  one  hand,  while  Bus- 
ter is  polishing  the  official  leggings  industrious- 
ly. Surgeon  James  Montgomery  Neems,  his 
bald  spot  twinkHng  in  the  beams  that  dapple 
the  oak  leaves  overhead,  is  smoking  a  Russian 
cigarette  of  great  price,  and  changing  the 
bronze  buttons  from  a  soiled,  into  a  clean  fa- 
tigue blouse,  w^hile  the  cheerful  Pepper,  im- 
maculate as  to  shoes,  leggings  and  riding  trou- 
sers, after  an  hour's  labor  thereon,  is  affixing 
bronze  insignia  on  the  standing  collar  of  his 
campaign  shirt,  only  stopping  long  enough  to 
squint  critically  at  the  welt  from  a  mosquito 
bite  (not  from  the  camp  vicinity,  be  it  added,  as 
that  is  now  quite  free  from  them,  after  careful 
drainage  and  oiling)  on  one  bare  shoulder, 
after  which,  the  insignia  being  in  place,  he  slips 
his  arms  into  the  shirt  and  tucks  it  neatly  into 
his  belt,  about  his  slim  waist,  which  being  the 
completion  of  his  official  toilet,  once  the  olive 
drab  cap  is  set  on  his  red  head,  he  grunts  with 
satisfaction  and  lifts  his  eyes  with  a  look  of 
pride  toward  a  soldierly  group  of  yellow  Ser- 
vice tents,  pitched  to  the  western  side  of  the 
clearing,  the  home  of  the  twenty-four  boys 
who  now  form  Troop  Number  One,  Dolittle, 
South  Carolina,  Boy  Scouts  of  America.    They 


i66  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

use  the  same  mess  as  the  officers,  for  the  As- 
sistant Surgeon  General  very  properly  counts 
them  among  his  other  sanitarians,  if  at  present 
a  bit  clumsy  in  their  technique,  and  the  two 
articles  that  give  the  youthful  mosquito  chas- 
ers the  most  joyous  pride  just  now,  are  the 
beautiful  American  flag  (a  gift  from  the  Sur- 
geon General  in  Washington)  which  is  now 
fluttering  before  their  council  tent  with  their 
troop  pennant  near  it,  mounted  on  a  staff  of 
polished  cherry,  with  a  bronze  eagle  at  the 
top,  the  gift  of  their  dear  Chief;  and — number 
two,  a  knapsack  oil  spray,  a  tank-like  affair 
with  a  strap  to  fasten  it  about  the  operator's 
body,  and  equipped  with  a  short  hose  and  a 
piston  for  scattering  the  kerosene  oil  over  the 
ponds  where  Anopheles  breed,  should  any  of 
these  venturesome  insects  still  dare  to  breed 
in  the  neighborhood  of  such  a  husky  lot  of 
sanitary  efficiency. 

Khaki,  tan  leather  and  olive  drab  every- 
where !  A  sort  of  monochrome  in  browns,  re- 
lieved only  by  the  three  sets  of  handkerchiefs, 
eight  for  each  Patrol,  that  are  knotted  about 
sun-browned  young  throats — gray,  with  a 
yellow  border,  for  the  Sea  Gulls  (so  called  be- 
cause, in  the  opinion  of  the  Scout  Master,  their 
Patrol  Leader  is  a  "regular,  tow-headed 
Stormy  Petrel");  brown,  with  a  red  border, 
for  the  Gophers ;  and  gray  and  brown  for  the 
Pussy-cats.     Each  Patrol,  by  the  way,  holds 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  167 

one  over  its  official  complement  of  boys,  for 
all  three  have  insisted  on  enrolling  Don  Cam- 
eron just  now  absent  at  the  Johns  Hopkins 
Hospital,  as  a  charter  member  of  their  brother- 
hood. Their  Troop  Committee  consists  of 
United  States  Senator  Joshua  Cubb,  (at  pres- 
ent in  Baltimore  with  Don),  Assistant  Surgeon 
General  Ian  Whitlock,  U.  S.  P.  H.  S.,  and  an 
inflammable  old  gentleman  by  the  name  of 
Anthony  A.  Blake,  the  President  of  the  cotton 
mills  at  Dolittle,  and  the  father  of  young  Ed- 
ward Blake,  a  slight,  freckled  face  boy  of  fif- 
teen, as  dark  as  Van  Lear  himself,  and  most 
delightful  from  a  boy's  standpoint,  full  of  a 
quiet,  mischievous  fun,  peculiarly  his  own,  and 
a  gentleman  every  inch  of  him.  Especially  is 
this  youngster  (Assistant  Leader  of  the  rol- 
licking Gopher  Patrol)  a  favorite  with  the 
energetic  martinet.  Senior  Surgeon  John  Iron, 
chiefly  because  that  piece  of  official  grimness 
and  Ed's  father  equally  grim,  are  become 
sw^orn  friends,  indulging  in  the  most  passion- 
ate disputes  whenever  they  meet,  and,  in  con- 
sequence, putting  one  another  down  as  tho- 
roughly deUghtful  men — "so  full  of  force!" 
Beside  the  above  mentioned  Patrol  handker- 
chiefs, the  general  brownishness  of  things  is 
further  relieved,  though  to  a  less  extent,  by 
the  white,  cream,  brown  and,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  dirt  color  of  twenty-four  pair  of  knees, 
bare  from  the  tops  of  rolled  down  stockings 


i68  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

four  inches  below  the  kneecap,  to  the  bottoms 
of  the  khaki  pants,  four  inches  above. 

Under  the  shade  of  a  big  tree,  at  the  edge 
of  ground  between  the  scout  encampment  and 
the  officers'  cabins,  a  group  of  boys  loafed  in 
Sabbath  peace.  The  corpulent  Coonie  Black, 
Patrol  Leader  of  the  Pussy-cats,  looking  round 
and  happy  in  his  very  new  uniform,  was  quite 
himself  again,  though  under  his  brown  felt 
scout  hat,  he  still  wore  a  generous  patch  of 
adhesive  plaster.  Close  to  him,  curled  up  in 
lazy  comfort,  was  his  Assistant  Patrol  Leader, 
Van  Lear  Cubb. 

In  the  sixteen  days  since  Don's  accident, 
certain  small  lines  had  come  in  the  boy's  dark 
skinned,  freckled  face,  and  they  gave  him  a 
thoughtful,  resolute  look.  Next  to  Billy  Hoo- 
ver, who  he  knew  had  saved  Don's  life,  his  best 
friend  was  the  huckster  boy;  and  the  new  mule, 
as  small  and  sleek  as  its  companion,  that  now 
trotted  before  the  equally  new  vegetable  wag- 
on, was  but  one  of  his  efforts  to  make  things 
square  with  his  fat  chum.  Just  now  he  was 
telling  Coonie  and  Billy  about  his  trip  up  to 
Baltimore  the  week  before,  he  and  his  grand- 
father and  Don,  in  the  drawing-room  of  a  pull- 
man,  with  a  trained  nurse  from  Charleston  also 
in  attendance. 

"Don's  getting  along  nicely  now,  isn't  he. 
Van?"  Billy  asked. 

"Sure.    Don's  all  right.    Granddad  wrote  me 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  169 

that  both  Dr.  Howland  and  Dr.  Halstead  say 
he's  doing  fine.  It — it  was  pretty  bad  at  first 
though.  Grandad  just  wouldn't  let  me  sit  up 
on  the  train — treated  me  like  a  regular  kid. 
But  any  fellow  with  sense  could  see  how  Don 
wanted  me!  It — it  just  about  broke  my  heart, 
fellows — he  looked  so  little,  and  hurt,  and  so — 
so  tired,  sort  of.  All  I  could  do  was  to  tell  him, 
over  and  over,  how  sorry  I  was,  and  what  you 
had  said,  Billy — that  he  was  to  be  the  first 
scout  enrolled  in  our  troop.  When  things  got 
very  bad,  and  he'd  cry  some,  I'd  tell  him  that 
over  again,  you  know."  A  flush  of  embarass- 
ment  came  over  his  dark  face,  *'And  I'd  hold 
him  some,  and  kiss  him — he's  my  kid  brother, 
you  know,  fellows." 

Pepper,  overhearing  the  greater  part  of  this 
conversation,  watched  the  boy  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eye,  and  then  smiled  across  to  Dr. 
Jimmy  Neems,  who  nodded  a  hearty  approval 
in  response. 

Then  the  august  presence  of  the  Leader  of 
the  belligerent  Sea  Gulls  joined  the  rest,  none 
the  worse  for  his  adventures  in  First  Aid,  and 
as  mischievous  and  purposeful,  yes,  and  as 
truculent  too,  as  ever — just  a  nice,  roly-poly 
kid,  kindhearted  and  quick,  either  for  friend- 
ship or  pugnacity.  Without  the  sweet  tem- 
pered, sane  management  of  Billy  Hoover,  his 
Assistant,  the  Sea  Gulls  would  have  been  hav- 
ing their  heads  punched  on  an  average  of  three 


170  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

times  a  day,  Warfield  priding  himself  on  his 
Patrol  discipline. 

Just  now  his  round  face  wore  its  broadest 
grin,  as  he  curled  up  close  to  Billy  and  repeated 
some  sky-larking  in  his  tent  on  the  previous 
night. 

"No  rough-house  in  our  tents,  is  there  old 
Scout?"  Van  bragged,  clasping  his  bare  knees 
in  both  hands  and  rocking  himself  backward 
and  forward. 

"I  should  say  not!"  from  Coonie.  "Me  and 
this  husky  bunkie  of  mine  won't  have  it.  Will 
we.  Van?" 

"I  should  say  not!"  Van  flung  back  with 
pride.  "We've  got  dandy  discipline  in  our 
Patrol,  thank  you." 

"Huh!"  from  Wardy,  raising  up  on  one  el- 
bow, "You  Pussy-cats  ain't  in  the  same  class 
with  us  Sea  Gulls!  Discipline's  our  middle 
name,  isn't  it,  Billy?" 

"Course,"  Billy  Hoover  repHed  with  a 
giggle.  "Our  Patrol  is  just  bound  to  be  the 
best  in  the  troop,  ain't  it,  Wardy-Scout?  Just 
because  it  is  ours." 

"Well,"  from  Ed  Blake,  his  snubbed  nose 
wrinkled  in  a  mischievous  grin,  "I'm  not  say- 
ing much,  but  there  isn't  a  one  of  you  in  a  class 
with  us  Gophers !  No  sir !  We've  got  the  right 
name,  to  start  with — haven't  we.  Bean-pole?" 
to  his  right  hand  neighbor.  Patrol  Leader 
Gopher  Bean. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  171 

"  'Cose  we  have,  Ed/'  the  Gopher  smiled 
back,  "And  then,  just  look  at  the  two  fellows 
that  boss  our  Patrol — 'specially  the  Leader!" 

Everybody  began  to  laugh,  and  as  they  did 
so  a  girl  cantered  up  to  the  clearing  and  reined 
in  her  horse  w^ith  a  practiced  hand. 

"Who's  the  oleander  blossom.  Pepper?"  Dr. 
Neems  inquired  with  jocularity,  as  he  took  out 
another  cigarette  from  his  heavy  silver  case. 

Young  Pepper  made  no  answ^er,  for  he  was 
on  his  legs  at  once,  stumbling  a  little  in  his 
eagerness,  and  glancing  shyly  over  his  shoul- 
der, now  and  then,  at  his  brother  officers,  as 
he  hurried  toward  the  newcomer. 

"Never  saw  Pepper  rattled  that  way  before," 
Lake  White  chuckled.  "He  don't  like  girls  as 
a  rule." 

"The  young  lady  looks — a  bit  masterful," 
the  Chief  smiled,  glancing  up  from  a  copy  of 
the  "Atlantic  Monthly".  "Our  Pepper  had  best 
be  cautious.  He  should  carefully  digest  the 
philosophy  of  Treitschke  and  Nietzsche,  with 
their  gospel  of  the  right  to  the  strongest,  that 
they  have  so  laboriously  howled  through  the 
ages.  Pepper  is  a  nice  boy,  and  should  only 
go  with  a  'Kirche,  Kuchen,  Kinder'  girl.  Just 
look  at  the  youngster,  Hollis!  He  is  as  pink 
and  breathless  as  a  school-boy,  or  a  second 
Richard  Feverel." 

"But  nobod}^  has  answered  my  question," 
Jimmy  Neems  complained. 


172  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"As  to  the  identity  of  your  oleander  blos- 
som," from  the  smiling  Chief,  "never  mind, 
Neems.  Behold  Master  Pepper  returning!  No 
doubt  he  can  solve  the  mystery  for  you.  Bless 
those  Boy  Scouts,  Hollis,  the  very  sight  of  a 
girl  in  camp  has  made  them  as  pink  and  bash- 
ful as — as  Pepper  himself." 

"Approach  the  official  shrine.  Pepper,"  Dr. 
Neems  chuckled,  "and  be  catechised.  Once 
again  I  demand  to  know  the  identity  of  the 
oleander  blossom." 

Pepper  turned  red,  and  stood  before  the 
older  officers  very  shyly.  He  tried  to  speak, 
failed,  wet  his  lips  and  tried  again. 

"Oh — that's  just  Anne  Page,"  he  said  meek- 
ly. "She's  such  a  nice  girl.  What  you  fellows 
laughing  at?  She  is  a  nice  girl,  and  I'll  punch 
anybody's  head  that  says  she  isn't." 

"Nobody  said  she  wasn't,  you  young  Tris- 
tram," Mr.  HolHs  grinned.  "Why  I  am  sure 
you  know  far  more  about  the  young  lady  than 
the  rest  of  us.  You  certainly  look  as  if  you  did, 
and  you  act  as  if  you — " 

But  now  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General  took 
a  kindly  hand. 

"Let  him  alone,  Frank  Hollis,"  he  smiled, 
"That's  a  good  fellow.  Let  Pepper  have  his 
romance  in  peace.  It  is  his  very  first  offense, 
I  honestly  believe.  A  very  charming,  clever 
face.  Pepper." 

"Yes  sir,"  Pepper  blushed  gratefully,  glanc- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  173 

ing  up  at  his  Chief  for  a  moment  just  as  a  small 
red-headed  school  boy  might  look  at  his  father, 
when  the  latter  had  taken  his  part,  and  then 
dropping  his  eyes  again.  "Her  name  is  Anne 
Page,  and  Tve  known  her  since  I  was  in  knick- 
ers. She's  only  a  few  months  younger  than 
I,  and  she's  a  graduate  nurse  from  the  Hop- 
kins. Left  Baltimore  last  year  to  do  Red 
Cross  work  somewhere  in  France,  and  now 
she's  home,  in  Charleston,  on  her  furlough." 

"Oh,  I  know  her!"  Buster  struck  in,  he  was 
now  Assistant  Scout  Master,  by-the-way,  "She 
was  ever  so  good  to  me  when  I  was  sick  at  the 
American  Hospital  at  Neuilly,  Dad.  We  all 
called  her  Sister  Anne,  English  fashion." 

"Well,  I  reckon  I  know  her,  too!"  very 
proudly  from  the  scout  ranks,  as  Billy  Hoover 
swaggered  up.  "Say,  she's  my  second  cousin! 
Honest  she  is.  She's  a  Virginia  Page,  and  a 
Charleston  Sewell!    Gee!" 

"Then  may  the  Lord  preserve  us !"  in  a  fer- 
vent aside  from  the  smiling  Chief.  "Like  our 
Cookie,  I  too  would  fain  say  *Gee!'  " 

"Now  watch  out  for  the  most  fearful  display 
of  official  Scout  Masterly  favoritism.  Spot-to," 
Lake  West  laughed.  "Billy  is  only  an  Assis- 
tant Patrol  Leader,  under  our  scrappy  tow- 
head,  but  you  just  watch  him  fit  into  Buster's 
shoes,  in  spite  of  his  few  fourteen  years,  if 
Pepper  has  his  way.  'Cherchez  la  femme/ 
Spotto,  old  boy!" 


174  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"I  know  her,  too !"  Van  called,  from  his  seat 
beside  Coonie  Black.  "She's  great!  She  was 
in  Dolittle,  visiting  a  chum  of  hers  who  is  head- 
nurse  at  the  Mill  hospital,  the  day  Grandad 
wanted  a  trained  nurse  for  Don,  and  she  grab- 
bed her  duffle,  or  whatever  girls  call  their  kit, 
and  went  right  along  with  us  to  Baltimore. 
She  had  more  sense!  She  knew  just  when  to 
leave  Don  and  me  alone,  and  all  that." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  the  young  lady  myself," 
in  a  gentle  voice  from  Spotteswood  Welford, 
"but  I  am  going  to.     Just  watch  me.  Lake." 

"Not  if  I  know  it,  old  son,"  Pepper  flung  in 
with  a  shy  grin,  friendly,  but  determined,  for 
Spot's  good  looks  might  prove  very  formid- 
able. 

"Well,  we  all  want  to  know  her.  Pepper," 
the  Chief  said  cordially.  "I  must  thank  her 
for  all  her  kindness  to  my  own  boy.  She  'spec- 
ialed'  Buster,  you  know.  Since  she  has  so 
many  friends  at  Camp  Ross,  we  will  with  your 
permission,  give  her  a  Continental  breakfast,  at 
eleven-thirty  to-morrow  morning.  I  have  to 
go  to  Raleigh  in  the  afternoon,  but  I  will  make 
it  a  point  to  be  here  for  that.  She  has  been  so 
good  to  Buster." 

"Oh,  Anne's  good  to  everybody!"  from  Pep- 
per, now  quite  joyous. 

"Is  she  good  to  you.  Pepper?"  Dr.  Neems 
inquired  with  gusto. 

"Sometimes,"  from  the  smiling  Pepper.     "I 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  175 

say,  Chief,  she  rode  over  here  to  see  me  about 
the  Allied  Bazar  theyVe  getting  up  in  Charles- 
ton next  month.  It's  to  be  in  the  Armory. 
She  wants  my — our — scouts  to  help,  some  in 
fancy  togs  to  sell  things,  and  the  rest  to  be  on 
actual  service  in  the  building." 

"Excellent!"  the  Assistant  Surgeon  Gener- 
al assented.  "If  we  can  get  that  tract  of  land, 
over  on  Sago,  sanitated  properly,  by  the  first 
of  September,  so  that  I  can  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  hearing  a  Marine  bugle  sound  out  over 
it,  as  an  established  training  camp  for  that  part 
of  the  Navy,  I  v^ill  say  my  'Nunc  dimittis' 
gladly,  and  feel  that  our  Boy  Scouts  deserve 
a  trip  to  Charleston,  though  even  there  they 
will  be  on  duty,  I  suppose,  in  the  Bazar  work." 

"Gee,  but  that's  just  great.  Chief!"  came  the 
enraptured  voice  of  Warfield  Brown,  as  he 
trotted  over,  his  most  friendly  grin  on  his 
mouth.  "If — if  only  every  thing  gets  straight- 
ened out  with  me,  by  then,  I'll  be  glad  all  over 
to  go,  and — and  us  Scouts  want  to  hear  that 
Marine  Corps  bugle  same  as  you,  sir.  Honest!" 
then,  with  much  less  enthusiasm,  "Cousin  Byrd 
is — is  beginning  to  see  things,  just  a  little — 
it's  ever  so  nice,  I — I  reckon — and  he  says  he 
w^ants  to  drive  over  and  use  his  eyes  for  one 
good  look  at  what  we've  done." 

"Yes,  I  understood  his  eyesight  was  really 
improving,  and  it  is  wonderful,"  Pepper  put  in 
kindly.    "Those  cases  are  awfully  rare,  for  he 


176  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

seemed  to  be  totally  blind.  About  your  own 
troubles,  Wardy,  everything  will  come  out  all 
right,  and  as  to  our  sanitary  work,  with  a  troop 
of  scouts  like  you,  we  will  make  good  in  that, 
too.    You  see  if  we  don't,  old  son." 

"I  say,  old  Scout  Master,"  Warfield  cried, 
looking  up  gratefully  into  the  young  officer's 
freckled  face,  "I  think  that  trained  nurse  lady 
is — is  real  pretty!  Oh,  ever  so!  And  she  looks 
nice  and  jolly,  too." 

"She  said  the  very  same  thing  about  you, 
Wardy,"  Pepper  smiled. 

"Honest?"  Wardy  dimpled.  "I  guess  it  was 
my  new  uniform,"  and  he  took  in  his  own  cos- 
tume with  pride,  from  his  rough  tan  shoes, 
rolled  stockings,  bare  knees,  khaki  pants, 
knit  scout  belt  with  its  accoutrements  of  drink- 
ing cup,  knife  and  woodman's  hatchet,  and  the 
First  Aid  kit  and  canteen  slung  across  his 
body  by  its  canvas  strap,  going  up  with  par- 
donable swagger  as  far  as  his  round  person 
was  visible  to  his  own  eyes.  He  was  really 
pleased  that  this  young  lady  should  like  him, 
for  she  struck  him  as  being  just  the  right  age 
for  a  nice,  pleasant,  big  sister;  for  Pepper's 
feelings  never  entered  his  wholesome,  boyish 
head  for  a  second.  He  was  just  a  normal  four- 
teen-year-old, who  liked  to  be  liked  by  attract- 
ive grown-ups. 

And  now,  clear  and  true,  rang  out  the  call 
from  Billy's  cornet: 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  177 

"Attention  to  orders,"  and  the  Scout  Master 
gave  the  word  to  'Tall  in"  for  morning  service, 
which  was  held  under  the  same  big  live-oak 
as  the  mess.  Nobody  had  to  attend  it,  neither 
Scouts  nor  the  Service  men,  but  everyone 
wanted  to  do  so,  and  were  glad  enough  to  lis- 
ten to  their  gray-headed  Chief  as  he  stood,  lean 
and  gracious  with  his  alert,  military  figure  in 
its  field  uniform,  reading  the  office  of  Morning 
Prayer  from  the  Episcopal  liturgy,  his  voice 
clear,  cultured  and  pleasant. 

Finally,  at  the  end,  the  boys  stood  at  atten- 
tion, facing  the  flag,  the  Service  officers  be- 
hind them,  while,  with  heads  uncovered,  they 
sang  "America"  and  then,  their  especial  Troop 
hymn,  an  echo  I  think,  of  the  very  heart  of  the 
great  Service  that  sheltered  them,  the  childish 
voices  rising  freshly  from  earnest  young 
throats,  with  the  support  of  the  men's  deeper 
tones  behind: 

"Fight  the  good  fight  with  all  thy  might, 
Christ  is  thy  strength,  and  Christ  thy  right. 
Lay  hold  of  Hfe,  and  it  shall  be 
Thy  joy  and  crown  eternally." 

*'Run  the  straight  race  through  God's  good  grace, 
Lift  up  thine  eyes  and  seek  His  face ; 


178  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

Life  with  its  way  before  His  eyes, 
Christ  is  the  path,  and  Christ  the  prize." 

"Faint  not  nor  fear.  His  arms  are  near, 
He  changeth  not,  and  thou  art  dear ; 
Only  believe,  and  thou  shalt  see 
That  Christ  is  all  in  all  to  thee. 

Amen. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"Falstaff:  .  .  .  There's  villanous  news  abroad:  here  was 
Sir  John  Bracy  from  your  father ;  you  must  to 
the  court  in  the  morning." 

WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 

"Dol:     Come,  you  rogue,  come,  bring  me  to  a  Justice. 

Hostess :   Ay,  come,  you  starved  bloodhound. 

Dol:    Goodman  Death!     Goodman  Bones! 

Hostess:   Thou  atomy,  thou! 

Dol :  Come,  you  thin  thing ;  come,  you  rascal ! 

I  St  Beadle:  Very  well  ..." 

WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 

"Cardinal  Wolsey :  Take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have 

To  the  last  penny,  'tis  the  King's :  my 

robe. 
And  my  integrety  to  Heaven  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own.    O  Crom- 
well, Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half 

the  zeal 
I  served  my  King,  He  would  not  in 

mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies." 

WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 
179 


i8o  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"Slowly  we  lift  Bermudas'  shore, 
Fair,  warmy  beach,  a  bejewelled  toy 

Gift  of  the  Sea — ah,  here  dwelt  of  yore, 
One  with  the  soul  of  a  Service  boy !" 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

LAW  AND  ORDER 

The  "Continental  breakfast"  planned  by  the 
Chief,  was  served  v^ith  due  eclat  the  next  day, 
and  Billy's  cooking  earned  the  highest  praise 
from  Anne  Page,  R.  N.  (Registered  Nurse) 
and,  with  an  appetite  that  greatly  beHed  her 
golden,  flower-like  loveUness,  she  took  two 
helpings  of  everything  except  the  fried  chick- 
en, of  which  she  took  three.  The  Scouts,  to 
a  boy,  voted  her  "just  great,"  and  she,  for  her 
part,  said  the  Scouts  were  "fun",  so  that  they 
all  got  on  famously.  It  developed  that  this 
young  person,  with  the  face  of  a  pretty,  blonde 
boy  rather  than  a  girl  (somewhat  on  Buster's 
type,  by  the  way)  and  with  the  figure  of  a 
sweetly  pale  Cosmos,  was  a  baseball  twirler 
of  no  mean  order,  sending  "Ins"  and  "Outs", 
and  even  a  "Fade  away"  now  and  then,  that 
left  the  boys  (those  in  long  trousers  no  less 
than  their  juniors)  enraptured.  She  was  as 
completely  at  home  on  a  camp  stool  as  any 
officer  of  the  Service  present,  and  with  all  her 
fun  and  her  romping  with  the  youngsters, 
there  w^as  nothing  pert,  for  what  she  did  was 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  i8i 

simply  to  enjoy  herself,  and  not  to  "show  off" 
as  a  hoyden.  She  was  alive  to  any  mischief 
there  was,  and  threw  herself  into  it  with  the 
utmost  glee,  for  whatever  fun  there  was  in  it. 
At  the  American  Hospital  outside  of  Paris,  at 
Neuilly,  she  was  known,  among  her  own  sister- 
hood, so  she  explained  with  a  dimple,  as  'Pen- 
rod',  and  her  claim  to  being  named  after  Booth 
Tarkington's  small-boy  hero,  lay  solely  in  the 
number  of  scrapes  into  which  she  was  con- 
stantly falling,  and  the  funny  manner  in  which 
she  usually  managed  to  get  herself  out  of  them. 
By  the  end  of  the  meal,  therefore,  the  Scouts 
were  all  calling  her  "Miss  Penrod",  greatly  to 
her  delight. 

"General  Whitlock,"  Miss  Penrod  said  with 
the  pretty  deference  she  both  felt  and  showed 
to  her  world-famous  host,  "I  want  to  see  that 
laboratory,  for  my  adopted  brothers  have  been 
bragging  about  it.  They  say  we  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  anything  so  gorgeous  in  Paris. 
They  even  said  you  had  a  real  microscope  in 
it,  didn't  you,  Wardy?" 

"You  bet  there  is!"  Warfield  cried  proudly, 
"and  lots  of  stains,  and — blood!  Heaps  and 
heaps  of  it!    Gee!" 

"Oh,  most  certainly  *Gee!',  my  dear,"  Miss 
Penrod  dimpled,  "And  once  again  'Gee!' 
Look  out  for  that  blood,"  and  shaking  one  fin- 
ger at  the  widely  grinning  Wardy,  she  quoted: 


i82  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

"  'Some  little  bug  will  get  you — 
Some  day !' 

and  wouldn't  that  be  awful?  I  would  just 
hate  to  'speciar  one  of  my  kid  brothers  with 
an  attack  of  pernicious  malaria." 

"Glad  there  are  more  than  one,  Anne,"  from 
a  rather  gloomy  Pepper,  "Safety  in  numbers, 
you  know.  Which  two  have  you  especially 
adopted,  anyway?" 

"Well,"  Anne  Page  smiled,  "Number  one  is 
Wardy  here— because  his  hair  is  just  the  color 
I  would  like  my  own  to  be,  and  number  two 
is  Billy,  because  his  hair  is  the  same  color  as 
mine  happens  to  be!  The  other  Scouts  are  all 
my  first  cousins,  you  know.  Do  I  make  myself 
quite  clear.  Pepper?  Now,  if  the  General  is 
ready,  I  want  to  see  that  wonderful  laboratory." 

"Certainly  I  am  ready,  my  dear,"  the  Chief 
smiled,  and  with  his  own  gracious  charm,  he 
led  the  girl  to  the  small  cabin  that  was  fitted 
up  as  a  rough  laboratory,  all  the  finer  bacteria- 
logical  work  being  sent  to  the  Hygenic  Lab- 
oratory at  Washington. 

It  was  a  very  ordinary  affair,  but  Miss  Pen- 
rod  expressed  herself  as  properly  impressed, 
so  that  the  two  scouts  were  thoroughly 
pleased,  and  her  interest  became  very  real  as 
the  great  sanitarian  explained,  with  the  grace- 
ful courtesy  he  always  showed  when  giving 
explanations  to  the  boys,  as  if  they  probably 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  183 

knew  exactly  what  he  was  talking  about  be- 
forehand, about  the  isolation  of  malaria  para- 
sites at  the  very  beginning  of  the  technique — 
sterilizing  the  lobe  of  the  sick  person's  ear  with 
alcohol,  sticking  it  with  a  sharp,  needle-like 
instrument,  putting  a  drop  of  blood  on  a  glass 
slide  and  "drawing"  it,  (i.  e.  spreading  out  the 
blood  drop  in  a  thin  smear  on  the  slide  by 
smoothing  it  with  another  slide.)  Then,  after 
it  was  dry,  washing  over  it  a  polichrome  stain 
(Eosin  and  Methylene  Blue),  leaving  the  solu- 
tion on  the  slide  for  from  two  to  three  minutes 
and  then  dropping  on  the  same  amount  of  dis- 
tilled water  as  polychrome  stain,  leaving  it  for 
from  three  to  fiVQ  minutes  more,  finally  wash- 
ing it  all  off  with  ordinary  tap  water,  and  then, 
after  placing  a  thin  little  square  cover  glass 
over  the  part  of  the  slide  that  holds  the  blood 
stain,  and  dropping  a  couple  of  drops  of  cedar 
oil  on  it  to  counteract  the  light  refraction  that 
is  in  all  glass,  place  it  under  the  strong  lens 
of  a  microscope. 

"Of  course,"  he  finished  with  a  smile,  "the 
germs,  the  plasmodia  as  we  call  them,  Wardy, 
are  then  easily  enough  recognized.  The  red 
blood  corpuscles  stain  pink,  and  inside  of  them 
w^e  see  the  body  of  the  malaria  parasite  or 
protoplasm,  a  charming  blue,  with  a  vivid  red 
spot  in  it,  the  cromatin  or  neutral  material 
staining  red  from  the  polychrome  solution.     It 


i84 


THE  LONE  SCOUT 


looks  like  this,  more  or  less,"  and  he  sketched 
in  colored  chalk: 


Vfiif^milion         Vertnil'O*! 


light  ^^c^)  blue 


I  and  <1« 


OAme  as 
I  and  At 


''But  I  say,  does  it  always  jump  spang  right 
into  the  middle,  Chief?"  Billy  demanded  rather 
anxiously. 

"N-no,  not  exactly  that,  Billy.  The  malaria 
germs  get  into  the  corpuscles,  the  red  corpus- 
cles of  course,  in  an  especial  way  that  I'll  tell 
you  about  in  a  minute." 

"Say,  that's  a  real  pretty  old  picture,  all  the 
same,  honest  it  is.  Chief."  Wardy  cut  in  with 
a  gentle,  pleased  look  of  admiration.  "I  think 
it's  just  great." 

The  Chief  laughed  and  rumpled  Wardy's 
tow  head. 

"That  is  a  so-so  sketch  of  what  you  would 
see  under  the  microscope  in  the  blood  of  a  boy 
with  simple  Tertian  malaria,  that  is  a  chill 
followed  by  fever,  every  third  day,  and  quite 
well  in  between  times.  There  are  two  other 
kinds  of  malaria,  you  know." 

"Aw  gee!"  from  a  deeply  troubled  Billy, 
"Have  they  names  as  tough  as  that  every- 
other-day  one?" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  185 

"Worse,  if  anything.  There  is  the  Quartan, 
chill  and  fever  every  four  days  as  the  name 
implies,  and  the  Estivo-autumnal,  fever  and 
chills  whenever  the  germs  like,  no  matter  what 
the  poor  small  boy  says,  every  day  or  once  a 
week,  nothing  decently  systematic  about  it. 
The  malaria  parasites  from  the  Estivo-autum- 
nal and  the  Quartan  types  are  a  little  different 
from  the  Tertian,  but  if  you  know  one,  you'll 
know  all,  for  the  polychromatic  staining  holds 
good  throughout,  red  blood  corpuscle  stains 
pink,  protoplasm  blue  with  a  red  spot  in  it.  As 
the  germs  get  older  they  get  bigger  and 
bigger,  and  some  times  they  break  up  into  lots 
of  small  particles.  Very  nasty  little  animals, 
not  at  all  nice  company  for  Billy's,  or  Wardy's 
blood." 

"Aw,  gee,  Chief!"  Billy  blushed,  "now  you're 
trying  to  guy  us.  But  say,  you  said  the  bug 
didn't  jump  right  spang  into  the  middle  of  the 
— the  corpuscle,  so  how  does  he  get  inside?" 

"This  way,  old  man.  You  and  Wardy  look 
at  this  paper  a  minute.  I  am  afraid  I  am  bor- 
ing you  terribly.  Miss  Penrod,"  with  a  hu- 
morous twinkle  in  his  gray  eyes  as  he  spoke  the 
nurse's  new  nickname.  "I  realize  that  your 
profession  knows  all  about  this  sort  of  thing." 

"Indeed  we  don't.  General,"  Miss  Penrod 
cried.  "At  least  I  am  sure  I  don't.  I'm  just 
like  your  scouts.  I  was  born  in  the  malaria 
belt,  about  Charleston,  but  nobody  ever  told 


i86  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

me  anything,  and  at  the  Hopkins  we  nurses 
only  pick  up  a  very  little  of  this  part  of  malarial 
study.    Please  keep  on  with  that  diagram." 

"Why  certainly.  Now,  Billy,  you  too, 
Wardy,  look!  When  a  malaria  mosquito,  an 
Anopheles,  sticks  his  probocis — " 

"That's  his  nose,  ain't  it,  Chief?"  from 
Wardy. 

"Yes,  or  his  stinger  if  you  prefer — well,  when 
an  Anopheles  sticks  his  probocis  into  your 
skin,  before  he  begins  to  suck  he  injects  into 
your  blood  a  little  creature,  or  rather  quite  a 
lot  of  little  creatures,  the  sporozoites,  and  they 
look  something  like  this 


^ 


and  it  promptly  makes  for  the  nearest  red 
blood  corpuscle  it  can  find  and  enters  it  like 
this — understand  ?" 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  187 

"Yessir,"  from  both  boys,  very  much  pleased 
that  they  did,  be  it  added. 

^'Little  Comeback  is  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
Pasteur  Number  Two,  isn't  he.  General?"  the 
trained  nurse  asked. 

"Hope  so,  anyway,''  the  Chief  laughed.  "But 
why,  Little  Comeback?" 

"Oh,  I  forgot.  You  don't  know  yet.  The 
Scouts  are  going  to  help  me  at  the  Allied 
Bazaar  in  Charleston,  next  month,  and  Wardy 
is  to  be  one  of  the  boys  to  sell  things — and  he 
is  going  to  dress  up  as  a  clown — a  sort  of  Pier- 
rot— white,  with  big  red  spots  and  three  huge 
red  buttons,  you  know,  and  an  Elizabethan 
ruff,  and  a  little  black  skull-cap.  He  was  not 
overly  joyful  at  the  idea,  just  at  first,  but  I 
won  his  consent  by  telling  him  of  a  boy  at  the 
great  Bazaar  in  Baltimore,  who  dressed  that 
way  and  was  known  as  'Our  Little  Come- 
back.' " 

"Yes,  and  they  said  he  wore  the  littlest  hat 
at  the  Allied  Bazaar,"  Wardy  struck  in  solemn- 
ly, "but  I  bet  mine  will  be  littler,  Chief.  I'm 
going  to  take  Miss  Penrod  up  in  our  garret  at 
the  Folly  Quarters  and  we'll  root  out  the 
things  that  that  Reynold's  portrait  was  painted 
in.  It's  in  a  trunk  covered  with  hide  with 
some  of  the  hair  still  on  it — an  awful  funny 
old  trunk.  Don't  you  think  that  will  be  right 
nice,  Chief?" 

"I  most  certainly  do,  old  fellow,"  the  Assis- 


i88  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

tant  Surgeon  General  agreed  heartily,  for 
Warfield's  face  was  very  earnest,  as  if  the 
Chief's  opinion  would  help  a  lot,  if  it  was  fa- 
vorable. The  youngster's  next  remark  showed 
that  it  did  help  mightily. 

"Told  you  so,  Billy!"  he  swaggered.  "Told 
you  so!" 

"Well,  I  never  said  it  wasn't  nice,  did  I?" 
Billy  demanded,  somewhat  ruffled. 

"You  said  you  wouldn't  be  caught  dead, 
dressed  up  like  that,"  from  the  triumphant 
Warfield. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't !"  quite  shortly  from  Billy. 
"It's  lots  different  with  you,  Wardy.  First 
place,  anybody  that  does  know  you  in  Charles- 
ton, will  say  you  look  just  like  that  great  paint- 
ing by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  of  your  ancestor, 
and  the  ones  that  don't  know  you  won't  give 
two  hurrahs,  anyway.  Now,  if  I  rigged  up  like 
a  clown,  every  scout  in  Charleston  would  say 
I  was  a  big  enough  one  anyhow,  and  would 
just  guy  the  life  out  of  me." 

"Well,"  Wardy  grinned,  still  showing 
a  cheerful  disposition  to  swagger,  "that's  your 
tough  luck.  I'm  a  good  boy,  and  I'm  going 
to  be  *Our  Little  Comeback'  number  two,  ain't 
I,  Miss  Penrod?" 

"You  certainly  are — black  skull  cap  and  all." 

"Yes'm,  and  I  bet  I  wear  the  littlest  hat  at 
the  Allied  Bazaar — won't  I  Chief?" 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,  Wardy,"  from  the  Assis- 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  189 

tant  Surgeon  General,  with  much  gravity. 
"Billy  and  I  will  have  to  stain  it  with  methyl 
blue  before  we  can  isolate  it  from  the  rest  of 
your  tow-head  and  see  it  under  the  microscope. 
Won't  we,  Billy?" 

''Sure,"  Billy  giggled,  while  Wardy,  with  a 
delighted,  "Aw,  gee!"  and  a  most  apprecia- 
tive grin,  trotted  outside,  to  tell  his  new  name 
to  the  rest  of  the  Sea  Gulls. 

"That  boy  don't  care  what  he  says!  Billy 
laughed  (this  being  one  of  his  pet  expressions, 
you  see)  ''Honest,  he  don't,  Miss  Penrod!  He 
just  don't  care  what  he  says!  and  he  had  to 
ask  you  and  the  Chief  to  make  sure  his  old  hat 
was  going  to  be  real  little.  He's  a  great  old 
scout,    though— gee!      What's  up  out  there? 

Listen  ? 

The  most  awful  hubbub  suddenly  smote  up- 
on the  usual  quiet  of  Camp  Ross.  Angry 
voices,  a  sound  as  of  a  heavy  stick  coming  into 
smart  contact  vvith  a  human  head,  much  scutt- 
ling boyish  voices  and  cries  of  consternation ! 
A  rush  of  feet,  and  then  Warfield's  voice,  high 

and  furious :  .11 

"You  lemme  go!     Doggone  it,  lemnie   go! 

I Til  hit  you  again  if  you  don't  quit!     Aw, 

Coonie,  gimme  that  scout  staff!  Come  on, 
mmme  that  scout  staff,  I  tell  you!  I  got  one 
of  you,  anyhow,  and  I'm  glad  of  it!  You 
lemme  eo!  I— I  ain't  a  bad  boy  any  more!  i 
ain't  near  as  bad  as  I  used  to  be!    You  let  me 


190  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

g-go,  doggone  it !  I — I'll  bite  somebody !  Yes 
I  will,  too!"  then,  his  voice  suddenly  filling 
with  big  sobs:  "Billy!  Billy  Hoover!  Aw, 
get  Pepper,  one  of  you  poor  stiffs!"  then  in  the 
most  heart  broken  wail  that  a  boy  could  pro- 
duce, "They've  got  me  fellows!  Somebody 
get  the  Chief!    Please!" 

Before  half  of  the  above  was  finished,  the 
Assistant  Surgeon  General,  Billy  and  the 
trained  nurse  at  his  heels,  had  hurried  from  the 
cabin,  colliding  with  Pepper  Sloan,  Dr.  Jimmy 
Neems  and  several  other  officers,  as  they  all 
ran  for  the  Scout  camp,  where  the  greater  part 
of  the  troop  were  gathered  in  an  excited  group. 

The  Sea  Gulls,  in  a  compact  squad,  with 
their  scout  staffs  held  sturdily,  glared  belliger- 
ently at  three  men  who  held  a  scuffling  Wardy, 
his  tow  head  rumpled,  his  blue  eyes  blazing, 
but  his  round  face  as  white  as  a  dead  boy's. 
Holding  the  Sea  Gulls  at  bay,  for  they  were 
as  furious  at  the  manhandling  of  their  young 
leader  as  boys  could  be,  stood  the  fat,  mus- 
cular figure  of  Coonie  Black,  his  face  set  with 
a  grim  purpose,  like  a  solemn  moon,  with  Van 
at  one  elbow,  and  Ed  Blake  at  the  other.  To 
make  matters  worse,  the  Sea  Gulls  being  with- 
out either  their  Patrol  Leader  or  his  assistant, 
had  set  up  a  howl  for  "somebody  to  help  us 
lick  those  guys!"  and  who  should  have  re- 
sponded but  the  brown-headed  Leader  of  the 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  191 

Gophers,  and  his  face  reflected  much  of 
Wardy's  anger  and  some  of  his  fear,  too. 

"Aw,  behave  yourselves,  can't  you?"  Coonie 
grunted,  pushing  tv^o  Sea  Gulls  back  with  his 
scout  staff,  held  at  right  angles  to  his  body 
with  both  hands,  "Get  on  back  there!  You're 
nice  scouts,  aren't  you?  Hi,  Tick-tack!"  to 
one  of  his  own  youthful  Pussy-cats,  "Get  Pep- 
per Sloan.  Never  mind,  here  comes  the  Chief! 
Gee,  I'm  glad!  Now  I  guess  you'll  behave 
yourselves!"  and,  as  a  triumphant  snigger 
broke  from  one  of  the  three  men  that  were 
holding  Wardy,  he  added,  "Well,  you  needn't 
get  chesty !  Our  boys  would  have  cleaned  you 
out  five  minutes  ago  if  Van  and  Ed  and  me 
hadn't  stopped  them.  Being  Boy  Scouts,  we 
just  can't  rough-house  a  Sheriff,  even  if  he  is 
an  old — well,  never  mind  what." 

"Now,  what  is  all  this?"  the  Assistant  Sur- 
geon General  said  sharply,  his  eyes  as  hard  as 
steel,  so  that  both  the  scouts  and  the  officers 
of  the  rural  law  shufffed  nervously.  "Go  back 
into  quarters  at  once,  boys.  Now,  what  is  the 
trouble  ?  You  say  one  of  these  men  is  a  Sheriff, 
Coonie?    Well,  which  one?" 

Immediate  shouts  for  the  Sheriff,  but  the 
only  answer  being  loud  cries  of  the  most  fear- 
ful distress  from  behind  a  nearby  tree. 

"He's  over  thar,  suh!"  Henry  Bode,  for  it 
was  he  that  held  Warfield,  answered  in  some 


192  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

concern.  "Et's  Pap.  He's  Sheriff  of  Dolittle 
County!    I  sorter  think  he's  hurted." 

"Hurted!"  came  the  bitter  reply,  as  the  aged 
one  hobbled  forward,  weeping  most  bitterly, 
"Hurted,  Henery?  Ye  po'  fool,  I  be  killed. 
An'  me  goin'  on  eighty-five  nex'  month !  Thet 
thar  highw^ayman's  done  resisted  the  officers 
o'  the  law,  an'  I'll  see  it  goes  mighty  hard  with 
him." 

"What  did  he  do  to  you.  Bode?"  the  Chief 
asked,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"He  jest  sorter  tapped  Pap  on  the  haid,  suh," 
the  middle-aged  "Henery"  grinned. 

"Well,  that's  too  bad,  but  I  should  think  that 
four  men  could  have  managed  a  fourteen  year 
old  boy,  and  not  a  very  big  one,  at  that.  What 
do  you  want  with  him?" 

"He's  'rested  in  the  name  o'  the  United 
States  Gov'ment,"  the  aged  Mr.  Bode  replied 
proudly,  elbowing  "Henery"  to  one  side. 
"He's  'rested  in  the  name  o'  the  United  States 
Gov'ment,  Gen'ral,  an'  I  be  the  Gov'ment — an* 
he's  'rested  fo'  breakin'  the  Gov'ment's  haid, 
too!" 

The  Assistant  Surgeon  General  did  not 
laugh  this  time,  but  turned  slightly  white  un- 
der his  tan,  and  his  eyes  became  worried  and 
distressed. 

"On  what  charge.  Bode?"  he  asked  shortly. 

"Fo'  highwayin'  the  mail  o'  the  United 
States  Gov'ment  at  the  Postoffice  at  Dolittle, 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  193 

last  June,  Gen'ral.    Thar's  an  accomplice,  but 
we  ain't  got  him,  yit." 

"Say,''  the  Gopher  called  in  a  quick,  fright- 
ened voice  as  he  strode  forward,  his  lips  set 
manfully.     "I—" 

''Gopher !"  not  angrily,  but  in  utter  pitiful 
entreaty  from  Warfield,  "Shut  up,  please. 
Please,  Chief,  what  I  better  do?" 

"Go  along  with  the  officers  to  Dolittle,  my 
dear  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  you  in  Van's  new 
Pathfinder.  So  will  Pepper.  You  will  want 
Billy,  too,  I  know,  so  he  will  go,  too.  Don't 
you  worry.  You  never  even  thought  of  steal- 
ing that  mail,  and  we  all  know  it,  but  it  may 
be  a  little  troublesome  just  at  first.  How  the 
dickens  did  that  start,  I  wonder?" 

"Why,  that  thar  young  limb's  been  stealin' 
hams  all  the  winter,  suh,"  Henry  Bode  ex- 
plained. 

"Who  told  you  that,  man?" 

"Henery"  looked  at  Pap,  and  Pap  at  once 
called  up  what  he  fondly  believed  to  be  a  look 
of  the  greatest  slyness,  though  in  reality  it 
resembled  nothing  so  much  as  the  rolling  of 
an  aged  sheep's  eyes. 

"I  ain't  a'goin'  ter  tell,"  he  piped. 

"Well,  don't,"  from  the  Chief,  resuming  his 
usual  urbanity,  and  gazing  down  at  the  aged 
one  from  behind  the  tortoise  shell  rims  of  his 
eyeglasses  with  much  suavity — the  black  silk 


194  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ribbon  of  the  guard  alone  filled  the  octogen- 
arian with  horrid  misgivings  as  of  being  in  the 
presence  of  some  creature  of  a  higher  world. 
"Don't  tell,  my  dear  Mr.  Bode.  I  can  find  out 
so  very  easily  from  Washington.  Charming 
place,  Washington!  A  little  hard  on  of^cial 
blunderers,  I  have  noticed,  but  quite  delight- 
ful from  a  residential  standpoint." 

"Wardy,"  spoke  up  Miss  Penrod  suddenly, 
walking  up  to  the  boy  and  laying  one  hand 
lovingly  on  his  bowed  shoulder,  "I  want  to  go 
with  you,  too.  I  want  to  find  out  who  has  been 
telling  tales.  We  know  you  never  took  that 
mail,  dear.  Don't  be  scared,  Wardy.  I  want 
to  be  on  hand  in  Dolittle  and  offer  bail  for 
you,  so  you  can  go  on  with  your  scouting,  for 
the  Service  needs  you  boys  to  help  sanitate 
that  camp  for  the  Marine  Corps.  And  I  need 
my  Little  Comeback  for  the  Bazaar  next 
month.  I  have  nearly  a  whole  year's  salary 
untouched,  in  my  bank  in  Charleston,  and 
every  cent  of  it  is  going  to  go  to  keep  you  from 
being  unhappy,  honey.  It  is  all  my  small 
brother's  from  now  on." 

"We  will  divide  whatever  expenses  may 
arise,  my  dear,"  the  Assistant  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral said  gently.  "Neither  you  nor  I  would 
wish  to  deprive  the  other  of  the  real  pleasure 
of  showing  every  one,  our  boys  and  the  county 
people,  how  thoroughly  we  believe  in  Wardy's 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  195 

innocence.  Get  your  hat.  Now,  we  are  ready, 
I  think.  Your  car,  Van,  my  dear  boy.  Thank 
you.  Gentlemen,  we  are  quite  ready  to  go 
with  you  on  the  most  absurd  exploit  in  which 
it  has  ever  been  my  misfortune  to  take  part. 
Gentlemen,  lead  the  way/' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"This  world  is  a  dream,  say  the  old  and  the  wise, 
And  the  rainbows  arise  o'er  the  false  and  the  true. 

And  the  mists  of  the  morning  are  made  of  our  sighs. 
Ah !  Shatter  them,  scatter  them,  Little  Boy  Blue  I" 

ALFRED  NOYES. 

"Cleopatra:  ...  I  am  pale,  Charmian. 

Charmian:  Good  madam,  keep  yourself  within  yourself. 
The  man  is  innocent. 

Cleopatra:  Some    innocents    'scape 

death 
But  not  the  thunderbolt. 
Melt  Egypt  into  Nile !  and  kindly  waters 
Turn  all  to  serpents !    Call  the  slave  again : 
Though  I  am  mad,  I  will  not  bite  him :  call !" 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

"Ah,  lazy,  dear  Tortugas  day 

Of  smoky  echoes,  blue  Gulf's  sheen — 

Then  sing  a  Service  chantey  gay. 

Hard  work,  well  done  at  Quarantine." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

THE  CHIEFS  PANACEA 

Once  arrived  in  the  good  town  of  Dolittle, 
the  Magistrate,  with  the  help  of  the  Assistant 
Surgeon  General,  disposed  of  the  initial  in- 
dictment very  quickly,  referring  the  case  to 

196 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  197 

the  grand  jury,  and  asking  three  thousand 
dollars  bail,  which  was  at  once  guaranteed  by 
the  Chief  and  Miss  Penrod,  so  Wardy  was 
once  more  allowed  to  go  and  come  as  he 
pleased,  so  long  as  he  did  not  leave  the  State 
of  South  Carolina. 

'Tersonally,"  the  Chief  remarked  briskly, 
the  interview  with  the  magistrate  finished,  "I 
must  run  up  to  Charleston  and  see  the  United 
States  District  Attorney,  as  he  will  of  course 
prosecute  the  case  for  the  Government,  and 
then  I  shall  probably  wire  for  a  few  days  leave 
of  absence  and  go  to  Washington  to  see  the 
Attorney  General,  for  though  heaven  knows 
I  do  not  think  that  I  have  a  reputation  as  an 
official  'wire  puller',  still,  this  case  is  at  once 
too  distressing  and  too  absurd  to  leave  any 
stone  unturned.  In  the  meantime,  all  of  you 
be  sure  to  forget  this  business  entirely  and 
have  just  the  loveliest  amount  of  fun  you  know 
how.  Wardy,  and  Billy  here,  are  both  pretty 
good  hands  at  having  fun,  and,"  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  gray  eyes,  "Miss  Penrod  is  not  bad  at 
it,  either." 

"I  own  to  a  rather  extensive  reputation 
along  that  line.  Chief,"  Miss  Penrod  dimpled. 

"Say,"  poor  Wariield  blurted  out,  his  round 
face  hot  and  shamed,  "who's  going  to  tell 
Cousin  Byrd  about  this?" 

"I  am,  old  fellow,"  the  Chief  answered  read- 


198  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

ily,  "So  don't  you  worry  your  tow  head  about 
it." 

"He — he — he  knew  about  the  hams,  sir,"  the 
boy  floundered,  his  eyes  lowered. 

"That  so?  You  told  him  yourself,  eh?  Well, 
that  makes  it  all  the  easier  for  me.  Let — me — 
see !  If  it  was  not  for  going  to  the  Folly  Quar- 
ters I  would  catch  that  three  o'clock  train  for 
Charleston.  I  simply  must  get  the  midnight 
train,  at  the  latest,  for  Mobile,  you  know." 

"Let  me  interview  Mr.  Ravenelle,"  the 
trained  nurse  suggested.  "I  am  not  at  all 
worried  about  him." 

"It  would  be  so  much  easier  for  you,  if  his 
sight  was  perfect,  my  dear  Miss  Penrod,"  the 
Assistant  Surgeon  General  smiled,  looking 
pleasantly  at  the  girl's  pretty  face. 

Miss  Penrod  blushed  and  dropped  an  old 
fashioned  curtsey. 

"That  is  just  lovely  of  you,  General,"  she 
laughed,  "but  we  wall  do  the  best  we  can  any- 
way. You  take  the  train  for  Charleston,  and 
'Our  Little  Comeback'  and  I  will  go  to  the 
Folly  Quarters  and  do  our  bit.     Vae  Victis!" 

"Oh,  by  all  means,"  the  Assistant  Surgeon 
General  laughed.  "Good  luck  to  you  both! 
Don't  be  worried,  Wardy-scout,  for  everything 
will  come  right,  and  be  sure  not  to  forget  to 
make  fun  your  life's  business  for  the  next  week 
or  so.  Also,  as  Senior  Patrol  Leader  of  our 
Troop,  get  the  boys  out*  on  the  site  for  the 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  199 

Marine  Corps  camp  and  tell  Iron  and  Neems 
that  I  say  to  let  Lake  White,  or  even  Hollis 
himself,  help  you  as  well  as  Pepper.  There  is 
a  good  bit  left  to  oil,  as  well  as  to  drain,  and 
you  can  also  help  to  locate  further  breeding 
places  for  mosquitoes,  and  thereby  assist  the 
engineers  to  finish  their  sanitary  survey.  Of 
course  the  men  will  do  most  of  the  ditching. 
That  concrete-lined  central  ditch  for  a  water 
shed  is  finished,  you  know.  Try  to  push  the 
other  scouts  so  that  the  work  will  be  done  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Oil  wherever  you  can. 
Flag  the  ponds  or  even  the  holes  that  you  pre- 
fer an  officer  to  see  first,  and  do  your  field  work 
carefully,  carefully." 

"Yessir,"  very  briskly  from  the  tow-headed 
Wardy.  "Gee,  there's  a  lot  to  do,  but  I  don't 
care !  Bet  you  we'll  hear  that  old  Marine  Corps 
bugle  ringing  out  to  make  you  feel  good,  be- 
fore you  know  it.  Chief." 

"Good  for  you,  Wardy,"  the  Assistant  Sur- 
geon General  smiled,  "Now,  remember,  work, 
and  make  the  others  work,  but  attend  to  every 
detail  yourself,  old  man.  Never  leave  the  de- 
tails to  someone  else.  Your  position  in  the 
Troop  puts  a  good  deal  of  responsibility  on 
you,  you  know." 

"Yessir,"  Warfield  answered,  flashing  a  pur- 
poseful, happy  grin  up  at  his  Chief  with  a  most 
business-like  squaring  of  his  shoulders.     "I'll 


200  THE  LONE  SCOUT 

make  the  fellows  work,  and  Til  work  my  own 
self." 

"Good  scout!"  the  Assistant  Surgeon  Gen- 
eral said.  ''See  you  all  in  a  few  days,"  and 
he  walked  up  the  one  street  of  Dolittle,  Miss 
Penrod  at  his  side,  leaving  the  boys  in  the  car. 

''You  have  more  senseT  the  nurse  italicized 
admiringly,  as  they  entered  the  shabby  rail- 
road station.  ''That  small  boy  is  already  so 
busily  full  of  sanitary  plans  for  his  field  work 
that  his  tow  head  has  absolutely  no  room  for 
personal  worries." 

The  Chief  smiled,  his  face,  lean  and  clever 
and  gracious,  showing  fatigue  for  the  first 
time. 

"Oh,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said  simply, 
"Work  is  my  particular  panacea,  my  official 
cure-all  for  every  worry  under  the  sun.  In- 
teresting work,  of  course.  Good-bye,  and  good 
luck  with  Mr.  Ravenelle!  If  he  wishes  to 
guarantee  that  bail  and  make  the  amount  up 
to  us,  of  course  we  must  let  him  do  so,  for  it 
is  his  right  as  Wardy's  guardian,  but  I  do  not 
think  he  can,  by  any  chance,  afford  so  large  a 
sum  of  money.  That  magistrate  must  think 
our  rolly-polly  tow-head  is  a  second  *Gyp  the 
Blood'  to  require  such  bail.  Well,  here  comes 
my  train,  tobacco  juice,  infected  plush  cush- 
ions and  all,  so  once  again,  good-bye,  and  good 
luck  to  you,  dear  Florence  Nightingale.  Good- 
bye." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"Said  she :   'The  pride  upon  me  grates 
Of  Gwyndolin  and  Gladdys  Gates !' 

'I  will/  she  added  with  a  frown, 
'Call  Gwyndolin  and  Gladdys  down !' 

GUY  WHETMORE  CARROLL. 

"It  was  wicked  bad  campaigning  (cheap  and  nasty  from 
the  first) 

There  was  heat  and  dust  and  coolie-work  and  sun, 
There  were  vipers,  flies  and  sandstorms,  there  was  cholera 
and  thirst, 

But  Pharoah  done  the  best  he  ever  done. 
Down  the  desert,  down  the  railway,  down  the  river, 

Like  Israelites  from  bondage  so  they  came, 
Tween  the  clouds  o'  dust  and  fire,  to  the  land  of  his  desire, 

And  his  Moses,  it  was  Sergeant  Whatisname." 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

"Service  Engineers  are  we, 

Drab  Utilitarians — 
Woe  worn  tones  from  land  and  sea 

Call  us  Sanitarians." 
From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

FIELD  WORK 

Work!  Everywhere  over  a  three  mile 
stretch,  in  forest  and  on  clearing,  busy  men, 
busy  boys!  A  grass  choked  creek  is  being 
opened,  so  that  the  water  may  clean  away  the 

201 


202  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

many  pools  that  now  contain  still  back-water, 
and  there  seems  to  be  a  regular  battle,  a  sort 
of  second  Salamis,  between  the  men  and  boys 
on  one  hand,  and  a  pitiless,  copper  red  sun,  on 
the  other.  Wardy,  patient,  in  spite  of  his  nat- 
ural pugnacity,  cheers  and  lifts  his  scouts  along 
in  the  hard  work,  in  a  spirit  worthy  of  his 
world  famous  Chief  himself,  his  round  small 
body  dripping  with  sweat  and  dirt,  his  mouth 
either  set  sturdily,  when  he  begins  to  feel  he 
is  "getting  mad",  or  widened  in  a  most  friendly 
grin,  as  he  jokes  with  the  rest.  It  is  four  days 
since  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General  has  left 
for  Charleston  to  see  the  United  States  Dis- 
trict Attorney,  and,  after  a  rush  for  Mobile, 
he  has  wired  Dr.  Jimmy  Neems,  his  chief  of 
staff,  that  he  is  en  route  for  Washington,  and 
the  Attorney  General's  office. 

As  to  the  interview  between  the  trained 
nurse  and  Mr.  Byrd  Ravenelle,  it  was,  you  may 
be  sure,  most  friendly  and  amicable,  for  the 
two  weaknesses  in  the  old  gentleman's  hard 
nature  were,  first,  his  love  of  money — satisfied 
by  the  guarantee  of  Warfield's  bail  by  the  girl 
and  the  Assistant  Surgeon  General — and, 
secondly,  his  veneration  of  good,  colonially 
blue  blood,  equally  well  satisfied  by  this  visit 
from  "a  Virginia  Page  and  a  Charleston  Se- 
well."  He  appeared  terribly  shocked  about 
Wardy,  though,  as  he  explained  at  great 
length,  the  boy  having  already  told  him  of  the 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  203 

ham  theft,  he  was  not  surprised.  What  an- 
gered Miss  Penrod  mightily,  though,  was  that 
he  said  he  could  not  feel  sure  that  *his  dear 
boy'  was  innocent  of  the  mail  robbery,  but  that 
he  hoped  and  prayed  he  was,  and  that  the  law 
would  find  out  the  truth. 

Flushed  and  indignant,  but  under  the  won- 
derful control  of  her  profession,  the  girl  re- 
turned to  her  friend  at  the  Mill  hospital  at  Do- 
little,  and  Warfield  to  Camp  Ross,  and  things 
resumed  much  of  their  old  shape.  Thus  was  the 
final  work  on  the  new  site  for  the  training  camp 
for  the  Navy  Department  begun  again,  with 
Wardy  working  as  he  had  never  done  before, 
showing  a  vigor  and  earnestness,  together 
with  a  sturdy  determination  to  keep  his  temper 
and  make  good,  that  filled  his  youthful  spon- 
sor, Billy  Hoover,  with  pride,  and  which  left 
the  cheerful  Pepper  little  short  of  ecstatic. 

"He's  the  spunkiest,  most  industrious  little 
chap,"  the  scout  master  bragged,  as  he  and 
Lake  White  and  Mr.  Hollis  swung  along  the 
low  bank  of  Bull  Creek  toward  Sago,  "that  I 
ever  saw !  Something  of  a  buccaneer,  but  good 
stuff  in  him,  lots  and  lots  of  it." 

"Yes,"  from  Mr.  Hollis,  "and  let  me  add, 
I  think  my  small  cousin,  Billy,  excavated  the 
biggest  part  of  that  good  stuff,  with  a  preci- 
sion that  might  have  delighted  poor,  dead 
Gaillard,  had  he  not  been  called  from  his  great 
Culebra  cut  work,  for  God's  tasks  in  Heaven. 


204  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

Wardy,  from  the  first,  would  have  rejoiced 
mightily  in  storming  a  second  Nombre  de  Dios 
with  Sir  Henry  Morgan  and  his  murderous 
crew,  but  Billy  has  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
sweetness,  a  tolerance  in  the  turbulent,  plump 
heart  of  our  tow-head,  that  is  an  echo,  albeit 
a  faint  one,  of  his  own,  brave,  gracious  fun- 
loving  young  breast.    Eh,  Pepper?" 

"Right-o,  Mr.  Hollis!"  Pepper  assented  so- 
berly. "All  honor  to  Billy  Hoover  for  the  big 
hearted,  kindly  little  gentleman  that  he  always 
is.    So  say  we  all,  eh  Lake?" 

"Certainly,  old  man,"  from  Lake  White. 
"But  did  you  ever  see  boys  work  and  hustle 
so?  It's — oh,  blame  it  all,  man,  it's  downright 
inspiring!  Look  at  that  smelly  black  water. 
That's  Van  with  the  oil  spray.  Got  heaps  of 
sense,  for  a  fifteen-year-old.  Van  has." 

"Right,"  Pepper  assented  heartily,  "and  Fm 
glad  all  over.  Why,  when  I  first  knew  that 
boy,  he  made  me  feel  disgusted,  and  then  grim 
— honestly  he  did.  I  always  thought  of  Kip- 
ling's old  fellow  talking  to  his  son.  Remember? 

'I've  paid  for  your  sickest  fancy,   I've  humored  your 

crackedest  whim. 
Dick,  it's  your  daddy  dyin',  you've  got  to  listen  to  him.'  " 

"Me,  too,  Pepper,"  Mr.  Hollis  interupted, 
"and  the  part  that  got  to  me  closest  was  that 
if  the  good  old  Senator  had  been  dying  in  those 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  205 

days,  well,  Van  wouldn't  have  cared  any  more 
than  Kipling's  Dickey  did.  But  now,  what  a 
difference!  Hello,  Billy!  How's  the  w^ork?" 
as  the  scout  trotted  up,  bare-legged,  energetic 
and  most  cheerfully  bristling  as  to  his  golden 
head.  •, 

''Fine,  Cousin  Frank,"  he  answered,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  face  w4th  one  arm. 
"We've  done  just  what  Wardy  said,  worked 
from  the  central,  concrete  drainage  ditch  up- 
ward toward  the  highlands,  so  we  can  stop 
when  w^e  find  plenty  of  pools  that  are  not 
breeding  skeeters.  Gee,  but  old  Wardy  makes 
us  sweat,  though!" 

''Bosses  you,  does  he?"  Mr.  Hollis  laughed. 
"He  sure  does,  but  he's  as  square  as — as — " 
"As  Billy  Hoover,"  Pepper  Sloan  struck  in 
with  a  smile. 

Billy  flushed  up  to  his  ears. 
"Oh,  I  say — I — I — Well,  that's  pretty  nice  of 
you  to  say  that,  old  Scout  Master,"  he  flound- 
ered, pleased  and  tremendously  touched,  but 
most  awfully  embarrassed,  boy-like.  "Well, 
Wardy  is  mighty  square  with  us,  anyhow,  so 
there!  He  never  tells  the  rest  of  us  to  do  a 
thing,  ditching,  wading  into  a  pool  or  any- 
thing, that  he  won't  do  himself,  same  as  he 
tells  us.    He's  a  cracker-jack!" 

"I  ain't  no  such  thing!  I'm  a  dirty  kid,  and 
I'm  a  bad  boy!"  Warfleld  grinned  as  he  strode 
up,  bare  footed  like  Billy,  but  wet  to  his  thighs. 


2o6  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

so  that  his  khaki  pants  clung  to  his  round  hard 
Hmbs  Hke  the  skin  under  them.  "Quit  throw- 
ing bouquets,  Billy-Billy,  'cause  it  won't  help 
you  to  get  out  of  any  work.  Oh,  no!  See 
those  four  red  flags,  Mr.  Hollis?  Well,  they 
mark  the  only  ponds  we  scouts  aren't  men 
enough  to  either  oil  or  drain  or  fill  in.  They 
ought  to  be  drained,  I  think." 

''Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  Mr.  Hollis  laughed. 
"And  pray  why,  Master  Wardy?" 

"Well,"  sturdily  from  Wardy,  meeting  the 
Sanitary  Engineer's  eyes  squarely,  "they  all 
sort  of  slope  toward  the  central  ditch,  you  see, 
and  so  it  would  be  ever  so  easy  to  cut  drainage 
to  that,  and  it  would  be  just  silly  to  oil  them 
in  that  case,  now  wouldn't  it,  suh?" 

"Of  course  it  would,  old  man,"  Mr.  Hollis 
agreed.  "Draining  is  the  best  permanent  cure, 
when  you  can  do  it  without  too  great  an  ex- 
pense. Come,  Pepper,  you  and  Lake  and  I 
must  look  at  these  same  flag  stations." 

Billy  had  already  gone  back  to  the  pond  by 
this  time,  where  some  six  or  seven  other  scouts 
were  wading  about  searching  for  breeding 
places  for  Anopheles,  and  Wardy  was  about 
to  follow  him,  when  he  heard  his  name  called 
and,  looking  round,  saw  Pap  Bode  hobbling 
toward  him,  looking  smaller  and  more  shrunk- 
en than  ever,  and  very  forlorn. 

"Oh,  Master  Wardy,  Master  Wardy,"  the 
old    fellow   piped,   a   break  in  his  thin  voice, 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  207 

"Master  Warfield — don't  go  an'  turn  we  all 
out,  suh." 

"Huh?"  from  Warfield,  "What  you  mean?" 

"Why — I — I — I  be  an  ole  man,  Master 
Wardy,"  Pap  Bode  shivered,  the  scanty,  hard 
tears  of  old  age  rolling  down  his  face,  "I — I 
be  sech  an  ole  man — an'  I've  been  a-livin'  heah 
fo'  sixty  year  most — an' — an'  Henery  an'  his 
Jim  will  wok  fo'  you  hard;  so — so  fo'  Gord's 
sake.  Master  Wardy,  don'  be  turnin'  of  us  off 
the  Folly  Quarters!  Yo'  Daddy  wouldn't 
never  a'  done  sech,  nor  yo'  Grandad  neither." 

Wardy's  mouth  quivered  a  little,  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  big,  boyish  tears,  as  he  lifted 
his  round,  tanned  face  toward  the  old  man's. 

"I  don't  want  to  turn  you  out,  Pap,"  he  said 
a  bit  huskily,  "B-but  Cousin  Byrd  says — you — 
you  don't  pay  very  well,  not  regular  you  know, 
and — and,  aw,  gee!  Don't  you  cry!  I'll  go 
ask  Cousin  Byrd  to  let  you  stay  on  the  place, 
honest  I  will!  I — I'll  just  beg  him,  ever  so, 
you  see  if  I  don't!  He's — he's  mad  with  me 
right  now,  b-but  I'll  try  to  keep  you  on  the 
Folly  Quarters  for  all  that.  Papa  liked  you 
first  rate,  and  so  did  Grand-dad,  and  well,  I'm 
a  Brown,  too,  and  I'll  do  everything  I  can. 
Say,  I'm  ever  so  sorry  I  broke  your  head  that 
time  you  arrested  me." 

"Ef  you  jest  don'  break  my  heart.  Master 
Wardy,  I  reckon  my  po'  fool  ole  haid  kin 
Stan'  et/'  Pap  smiled  piteously,  and  Warfield 


2o8  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

returned  the  smile  with  a  friendly,  if  rather 
shaky,  grin.  Then  they  shook  hands,  after 
which  the  old  fellow  hobbled  off  to  the  mule 
he  had  ridden  over  on,  and  Wardy,  with  a 
quick  chivalry  that  was  at  last  finding  expres- 
sion in  all  his  acts,  scout-like,  trotted  by  his 
side  and  helped  him  to  mount  and  stood,  his 
tow  head  bared  to  the  breeze  that  rumpled  it, 
till  the  old  man  had  ridden  off,  his  blue-gray 
eyes  big  and  starry  as  he  looked  after  the 
shabby  figure  on  the  mule. 

"Good  work.  Scout!"  came  the  pleased, 
cheerful  voice  of  Billy  Hoover,  as  he  w/^lked 
up,  wiping  his  dirty  wet  hands  on  his  pants. 
"Say,  is  he  after  you  again  about  breaking  the 
'United  States  Gov'ment's  haid',  Wardy?"  and 
he  laughed  his  jolly,  boy's  laugh. 

"No,  he  isn't,"  Wardy  replied,  smiling  up  at 
the  bigger  boy.  "He's  in  all  sorts  of  trouble. 
Say,  Billy-Billy,  you're  the  only  kid  I  know 
that  laughs  and  grins  inside  as  well  as  out. 
You're  more  fun!    Gee!" 

"What's  wrong  with  Pap?"  Billy  laughed, 
though  he  blushed  a  little,  too,  and  Wardy  at 
once  told  him  all  about  it. 

"It's  partly  'cause  Cousin  Byrd  wants  to  get 
rid  of  the  Gopher,"  he  explained  quite  unhap- 
pily, "  'cause  he  and  me  stole  that  ham.  You 
see.  Gopher  lives  with  the  Bodes  now-a-days. 
Oh,  Billy,  Cousin  Byrd  has  been  acting— just 
awful !    He — he  knew  all  about  the  ham,  from 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  209 

the  first,  but  you  mustn't  ever  tell  that,  not 
even  to  the  Chief,  'cause  I  gave  him  my  word 
of  honor  I'd  never  tell  anyone.  When  me  and 
Gopher  first  asked  him  about  it,  before  there 
was  any  Camp  Ross,  he  always  said  no,  'cause 
we'd  pay  the  folks  back  after  we'd  cleared  the 
mortgage  on  the  Folly  Quarters,  by  selling 
that  timber  on  the  Big  Bear  river.  Now, 
though,  he  believes  I  stole  that  mail  bag,  he 
says  he  does,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"If  he  knew  you  were  taking  that  ham  all 
the  time,  he  ought  to  be  licked,"  Billy  flared 
indignantly.  "As  to  your  taking  the  mail,  he 
just  can't  believe  a  thing  like  that!" 

"He  says  he  belives  it,  all  the  same,"  War- 
field  replied,  "and  it's  just  awful.  There's  a 
reward  of  $1,500.00  for  the  capture  of  that  mail 
thief,  and — and  Cousin  Byrd  says  I'm  the  first 
Warfield  Brown  to  ever  have  a  Federal  reward 
placed  on  his  head  for  theft.  Says  he  don't 
see  how  I  can  look  that  Reynold's  portrait  boy 
in  the  face,  there  in  the  study." 

"Who  told  on  you  about  the  ham  and  started 
all  this?"  Billy  cried  belligerently.  "If  I  knew 
— I'd  punch  his  head  for  him." 

"I  don't  know  who  told — I  can't  think," 
Wardy  sighed,  "But  w^hoever  did  it  has  just 
about  finished  me.  If  it  wasn't  for  you,  Billy — 
and  the  Scouts, — I'd  like  to  be  a  dead  boy. 
Now  I've  got  to  go  to  Cousin  Byrd  and  beg 
him  to  let  the  Bodes  stay  on  the  Folly  Quarter 


210  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

land,  and  he's  just  sure  to  say  it's  'cause  I  want 
to  take  up  for  Gopher,  and  get  into  more  bad- 
ness. I'm  pretty  sick  right  now  at  the  idea 
of  asking  him." 

''Say,"  Billy  brightened  up  suddenly,  "Why 
don't  you  ask  Miss  Penrod  to  help  you?  She's 
not  one  bit  scared  of  Mr.  Ravenelle.  She's  a 
Virginia  Page  and  a  Charleston  Sewell,  you 
know!" 

"Yep !"  Wardy  assented,  somewhat  cheered, 
"But  you're  a  Charleston  Prendergast  your- 
self, and  I  never  saw  much  love  from  Cousin 
Byrd  to  you,  Billy.  Still,"  a  faint  grin  on  his 
lips,  "you've  got  Yankee  blood  in  your  body, 
too,  through  the  HoUises,  and  Cousin  Byrd 
just  hates  the  Yankees !  I'll  ask  Miss  Penrod 
to  help  me,  Billy,  that's  just  what  I'll  do,  and 
she'll  do  it,  'cause  she's  so  nice,  and  she's  your 
second  cousin,  too,  and  that  makes  her  nicer, 
old  scout.  Honest  it  does!"  and,  comforted 
and  greatly  heartened,  he  and  Billy  raced  once 
more  to  the  pond  and  began  an  energetic  use 
of  the  knapsack  oil  spray,  sending  a  film  of 
oil  over  the  surface  of  the  water,  and,  be  it 
added,  over  several  indignant  brother  scouts 
as  well. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"Au  clair  de  la  lune, 
Mon  ami  Pierrot, 
Prete-moi  ta  plume 
Pour  ecrire  un  mot. 
Ma  chandelle  est  morte, 
Je  n'ai  plus  de  feu, 
Ouvre-moi  ta  porte. 
Pour  Tamour  de  Dieu." 

FRENCH   FOLK   SONG. 

"Why  did  the  harp  string  break? 

I  tried  to  force  a  note  that  was  beyond  its  power,  that 

is  why  the  harp  string  is  broken/' 

RABINDRANATH    TAGORE 

"WeVe  a  real  plantation  house, 

At  our  station  sleeping  there. 
In  that  reservation  house 

Watch  us  boys  a-creeping  there. 
'Neath  the  eaves  we  find  Her  fan. 

Tiny  shoes  She  used  of  yore — 
Havoc  played  with  heart  of  man, 
Ebon'd  brows  like  old  Japan, 

Small,  gay  mouth,  and  pompadore." 
From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

PIERROT 

True  to  Billy's  advice  and  to  his  own  desires, 
Warfield  Brown  went  over  to  Dolittle  that 
same     evening     and,     with     an     expression 

211 


212  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

of  gloomy  solemnity,  talked  over  his  troubles 
with  his  friend,  Anne  Page,  R.  N. 

''The  surest  way  to  the  heart  of  that  guard- 
ian of  yours,  always  provided  that  he  has  one," 
Miss  Penrod  said  briskly,  "is  to  appeal  to  one 
of  his  hobbies,  either  money  or  genealogy. 
Personally  I  can't  very  well  use  the  former, 
Wardy,  and  neither  can  you,  but  cheer  up,  for 
we  are  gloriously  fitted  for  the  latter,  you  be- 
ing a  South  Carolina  Brown,  and  a  South  Car- 
olina Warfield  too,  and  I  a  Virginia  Page  and 
a  Charleston  Sewell,  so  Billy  tells  me.  On  my 
word  of  honor,  I  had  forgotten  it  myself,  thank 
goodness!"  and  she  grinned. 

"I — I  know  Cousin  Byrd  loves  good  fam- 
ilies. Miss  Penrod,"  Wardy  sighed,  "but  hon- 
est, I  don't  see  how  we  can  make  that  help  us 
in  getting  him  to  let  the  Bodes  stay  on  the 
Folly  Quarters'  land.  He  already  knows  I'm 
a  South  Carolina  Brown  and  a  Warfield,  yes'm, 
and  a  Ravenelle,  too — but  he  don't  seem  to  be 
so  awful  crazy  about  me,  now  that  there's  a 
reward  for  me." 

"I  could  box  your  young  ears,  Wardy," 
Miss  Penrod  interupted,  "for  talking  like  that. 
There  is  no  reward  offered  for  you — that  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars  is  for  the  capture  of  the 
mail  thief.    That  isn't  you." 

"No  ma'am,  but  Cousin  Byrd  seems  to  think 
it  is.  If  I  could  only  get  him  in  a  good  humor 
so  he'd  sort  of  like  me  a  little  bit,  I  wouldn't 


THE  LONE   SCOUT  213 

be  so  scared  to  ask  him  to  let  the  Bodes  stay, 
but  as  it  is  he'll  say  I  want  to  help  Gopher,  and 
then  I  bet  you  anything  I  get  mad,  and,  be- 
tween the  two  of  us,  we'll  raise  billy-blue-hill. 
Wish  that  silly  old  ancestor  of  mine,  the  first 
Warfield  Brown,  you  know,  would  quit  haunt- 
ing his  own  bed-room,  and  would  sort  of  whis- 
per to  Cousin  Byrd  that  I'm  a  nice  old  War- 
field  Brown  my  own  self,  and  ever  so  much 
like  the  rest  of  the  family  and  so  he  ought  to 
be  good  to  me,  for  the  honor  of  the  Brown- 
Warfield-Ravenelle  name.  He's  so  crazy  about 
family  traditions  and  that  sort  of  stuff." 

*'My  dear  Wardy,"  Miss  Penrod  cried,  clap- 
ping her  hands  in  triumph,  "You  have  said  it! 
We'll  do  it.     The  sooner,  the  better." 

''Do  what.  Miss  Penrod?"  Wardy  de- 
manded, puzzled,  but  excited  too. 

''Call  up  the  spirit  of  the  first  Warfield 
Brown,  of  Colonial  days,  to  help  us.  And  our 
Little  Comeback  will  aid  us  too.  Now  do  you 
understand?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  rather  crossly  from  Wardy. 

"Heaven  help  this  child!"  Miss  Penrod 
dimpled.  "Now  listen.  We'll  go  right  over 
to  the  Folly  Quarters  after  supper,  to-night, 
and  we'll  climb  up  to  that  garret,  root  out  the 
old  lavender  contents  of  that  hair  trunk,  and 
dress  you  up  as  for  the  Allied  Bazaar,  as  Pier- 
rot, after  the  portrait  by  the  great  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds — black  skull  cap  and  all ;  and  a  most 


214  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

ravishing  Pierrot  you  will  make.  Then  down 
we  will  go  to  the  study  and  see  if  your  old- 
world  appearance  won't  deHght  Mr.  Ravenelle 
as  an  echo  of  your  illustrious  ancestral  past.'' 

"Aw  gee !"  Wardy  grinned,  his  face  lighten- 
ing up  all  over.  "That's  great!  Cousin  Byrd 
will  be  tickled  silly,  he's  crazy  about  that  por- 
trait by  Reynolds,  and  I  bet  he'll  listen  to  Pier- 
rot right  enough." 

After  supper,  therefore,  these  two  friends, 
boy  and  girl,  galloped  over  from  the  village 
toward  the  Folly  Quarters,  hurrying  in  order 
to  reach  the  plantation  before  a  rapidly  gather- 
ing thunder  storm.  By  the  time  they  had 
swung  into  the  yard  and  entered  the  back  of 
the  house,  through  Mammy  Lou's  kitchen,  and 
had  stolen  upstairs  to  the  garret,  the  great 
mass  of  black  and  dun-colored  clouds  had 
rolled  over  the  entire  sky,  and  tongues  of 
forked  lightning,  as  crooked  and  harsh  as  Mr. 
Ravenelle's  smile,  were  cutting  a  pitiless  path 
from  the  heavens  to  the  steaming  earth,  being 
followed  by  tumbling  detonations  of  thunder. 

In  the  high  panelled  gloom  of  the  big  study, 
the  gaunt,  silk-robed  figure  of  the  old  man  sat, 
the  faintest  possible  smile  on  his  lips. 

"What  a  perfectly  charming  night,"  he  mut- 
tered in  his  lovely  voice,  leaning  over  the  an- 
cient rosewood  table.  "What  a  fascinating 
night.  Every  one  of  Wardy's  tow  hairs  is 
doubtless   standing  up   on  his   head   like  the 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  215 

pugnacious,  plump  porcupine  that  he  is.  The 
dear  boy  does  not  at  all  like  thunder  storms. 
Fancy  being  out  in  tents  in  this  rain!  Also 
fancy  prefering  a  Service  tent  at  such  a  time 
to  a  roof!  Droll,  but  deliciously  boylike! 
Wardy,  in  spite  of  his  good  blood,  seems  to 
have  just  a  touch  of  the  bourgeois  about  him, 
or  he  v^ould  never  fraternize  with  those  scouts. 
Dear  me,  what  a  pleasant  thought  it  is,  es- 
pecially to  a  doting  old  guardian  like  myself, 
to  know  that  in  a  month  or  two,  after  the  trial, 
the  dear  little  brown-skinned  tow-head  will 
always  be  safe  under  a  nice,  watertight  roof — 
in  a  reformatory!  Pleasant,  quite!  What  a 
solemn,  helpless  young  calf  it  is!  Keeps  on 
worrying  and  wondering  who  told  on  him 
about  the  hams,  and  so  started  the  other 
trouble.  He!  he!  So  subtle,  oh  dear  me,  so 
charmingly  subtle!  Equal  to  that  roly-poly 
Hoover  boy.  Gad,  I'd  like  to  bite  that  white- 
skinned  urchin!  So  officious!  Wardy  could 
have  helped  me,  oh,  in  really  big  things,  if  that 
boy  had  not  appeared  on  the  scene.  Wardy 
has  the  makings  of  a  most  artistic  thief,  only 
he  lacks  the  roguery !  Lots  of  animal  courage, 
though,  and  he  was  progressing  most  engag- 
ingly, the  dear  child !  Yes,  a  clean  cut  imprint 
of  teeth  on  Master  Billy's  white  shoulder 
would  be  an  exquisite  satisfaction.  It  is  too 
much  trouble,  of  course,  and  by  no  means 
worth  the  risk,  but  I  should  greatly  enjoy  see- 


2i6  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

ing  that  big,  husky  fourteen-year-old  cry.  It 
is  almost  the  best  thought  I  have  ever  had — 
next  to  my  blindness!  That  v^as  lovely!  A 
blind  old  fellow  is  so  touching.  Why,  that 
freckled-faced,  red-headed  young  officer  ac- 
tually had  tears  of  sympathy  in  his  eyes  the 
first  time  he  met  me.  He  was  so  sorry  for  me, 
and  he  did  not  attempt  to  hide  his  emotions  of 
pity,  for  of  course  an  old  blind  fellow  could 
not  by  any  chance  see  his  boyish  distress.  I 
declare  it  was  as  good  as  a  play!  A  blind  man 
could  not  see  tears,  nor  see  to  steal,  either. 
Softly,  softly !  Gad,  how  that  lightning  curses 
the  earth!" 

A  great  shoot  of  rain-tossed  wind  flung  in 
through  the  open  window  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room,  sending  the  white  curtains  billowing 
before  it  so  that  the  big  reading  lamp  on  the 
table  flared  dangerously.  Mr.  Ravenelle  swore 
very  softly  at  the  wind  and  the  lamp  simul- 
taneously, lowered  the  latter  a  trifle,  and  then, 
unlocking  a  deep  drawer  at  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  a  sort  of  small  bin,  pulled  something 
out  of  it  and  laid  it  on  the  table ;  then  screamed, 
for  a  heavy  whip  of  storm-wind  entered  the 
room  with  a  rush  and,  mingling  with  the 
scream  was  the  crash  of  a  falling  object  as  the 
huge,  gorgeous  canvas  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
fell  from  its  old  fastenings  and,  frame  and  all, 
tumbled  to  the  floor.  The  lamp  went  out  with 
a  sickening  stench,  only  the  crumbling  sparks 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  217 

around  the  wick  glowing  a  little  and,  in  a  vivid, 
cruelly  white  flash  of  spurting  lightning,  from 
the  wreckage  of  gilded  frame  and  canvas,  there 
stepped  the  stolid  figure  of  the  Pierrot,  ridic- 
ulous baggy  clown's  suit,  tufted  slippers,  red 
spotted,  pajama-like  clothes,  huge  red  buttons, 
stiff  neck-ruff  and  all;  the  tiny  black  skull  cap 
still  cocked  waggishly  on  the  back  of  the  tow 
head,  over  one  ear. 

In  that  one  flash,  before  the  dark  that  fol- 
lowed it,  the  big,  blue-gray  eyes  of  the  little 
clown  had  fastened  squarely  on  the  old  man's, 
and  the  latter's  eyes  filled  with  horror  and 
panic  as  his  small,  yellow  hands  clutched  at 
the  open  contents  of  the  thing  that  lay  before 
him  on  the  table — a  soiled  canvas  mail  sack, 
out  of  which  a  mass  of  letters,  some  registered, 
tumbled  in  confusion.  Then,  as  the  dark  closed 
in,  another  scream,  and  with  a  speed  almost 
incredible,  Warfield's  guardian  had  sprung  to 
his  feet  and  rushed  from  the  room  and  out  into 
the  storm,  the  heavy  front  doors  of  the  Folly 
Quarters  crashing  after  him.  Then  stillness, 
only  the  echoes  of  the  man's  scream,  and  of 
the  heart-stopping  thunder  outside.  Then  the 
window  was  closed  and  the  lamp  re-lit,  show- 
ing the  set,  pale  face  of  the  trained  nurse  bend- 
ing over  the  littered  table,  and  the  motionless 
figure  of  a  small  Pierrot,  his  face  wet  and 
ghastly  in  the  bizarre  absurdity  of  his  clown's 


2i8  THE   LONE    SCOUT 

motley.     Wetting  his  lips  with  the  tip  of  his 
moist  tongue,  the  small  scout  spoke  at  last. 

"Cousin  Byrd/*  he  said,  a  break  in  his  young 
voice,  "Cousin  Byrd,  I — I  didn't  mean  to  scare 
you.  The — the  wind  blew  the  portrait  down 
and — and  the  canvas  hit  me  and  knocked  me 
down  under  it,  so  I  had  to  crawl  out  right  from 
the  frame.  You — "  Then  he  stopped  for  he 
realized  that  no  one  was  in  the  room  but  him- 
self and  the  nurse. 

"Come  here,  Wardy,"  the  girl  said  in  a  low, 
steady  voice.  "Oh,  my  poor,  dear,  tried  little 
boy — look!  Here  is  the  mail  thief !  See,  dear? 
See  the  bag  still  with  its  postal  order  for  Wash- 
ington tied  to  it.  Here  is  the  opened  registered 
letter  of  last  June,  addressed  to  Senator  Cubb, 
and  here  are  the  ten  one  hundred  dollar  bills. 
And — ah,  what  is  it,  Wardy?"  and  she  put  an 
arm  about  the  tough  small  body  and  drew  the 
scout  to  her  side,  his  tow  head  bowed  griev- 
ingly  over  her  hand. 

"Look,  please!''  the  boy  cried,  a  big  sob 
breaking  from  him.  "See?  This — this  letter 
from  the  Postmaster  General — oh,  see,  Miss 
Penrod!  It — it  thanks  Cousin  Byrd  for — for 
detecting  the  thief  and — and  it  incloses  a  check 
for  fifteen  hundred  dollars  as  a  reward,  and  it 
— aw,  gee! — it  praises  him  for — for  telling  on 
a  thief,  even  though  it  was  one  of  his  own  flesh 
and  blood.  I — oh,  I  always  tried  to  do  what 
he  said — I  promised  mother  I  would  when  I 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  219 

was  a  little  boy,  and  he — he  tried  to — to  make 
a  thief  out  of  me  to  get  me  sent  to  prison,  or 
something,  and — and,"  but  his  eyes  filled  and 
his  voice  broke,  as  a  great  wave  of  boyish  an- 
ger swept  over  him,  moving  all  his  other 
emotions  before  it. 

A  clatter  of  swiftly  galloping  hoofs  past  the 
windows  and,  in  another  spurt  of  white  light- 
ning from  the  hurrying  clouds  the  gaunt  figure 
of  the  old  man,  bent  far  over  the  pummel  of 
his  saddle  as  he  swept  out  with  the  rushing  of 
the  storm  on  Warfield's  beloved  Beauty  Horse, 
and  from  the  calm  gracious  dignity  of  the 
Folly  Quarters  forever,  leaving  a  flushed,  hor- 
rified Boy  Scout  (only  Pierrot  to  his  firm  skin) 
holding  tightly  to  the  hand  of  a  trained  nurse, 
his  round  face  damp  with  sweat  and  as  white 
as  chalk  under  the  rollicking  little  black  skull 
cap  so  waggishly  set  on  the  back  of  his  fluffy 
tow  head,  somewhat  over  one  ear. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"Thus  will  I  listen  and  lie  so  still, 

And  watch  like  a  guard  o'er  the  forces; 
Until  the  roaring  of  cannon  I  hear 

The  tramp  of  the  neighing  horses. 
'Twill  mean  that  my  Emperor  rides  o'er  my  grave, 

The  sabres  flash  and  rattle. 
Then,  armed  to  the  teeth  will  I  rise  from  the  grave 

For  my  Emperor,  my  Emperor  to  battle !" 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEINRIK  HEINE. 

"There  stands  Fort  Jefferson 
(Billy  told  me,  Billy  told  me.) 

Pirates  there  their  life  begun. 
(Honest,  Billy  told  me!)" 
From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service." 

A  BOY  SCOUT  AND  A  COPPER  MOON 

"I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  this,  Reg- 
gie, but  I  think  it's  pretty  tough !" 

The  storm  that  had  shut  out  Mr.  Ravenelle 
from  the  Folly  Quarters  forever,  was  also 
beating  on  a  pair  of  tents  pitched  on  the  right 
hand  bank  of  Bull  creek,  where  Sago  tumbled 
into  it,  swelling  it  to  twice  its  former  size.  The 
above  remark  was  flung  from  a  squatting, 
sulky-faced  Billy  Hoover  as  he  pulled  his  khaki 

220 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  221 

coat  from  a  tent  fastening  and  cuddled  it  over 
his  olive  drab  shoulders.  There  were  four 
occupants  to  the  small  tent,  three  scouts  and 
a  crow,  named  Mehitabel,  an  aged,  ill-natured 
bird  with  a  bad  repute,  the  mascot  of  the  Sea 
Gull  Patrol,  in  Heu  of  a  proper  bird  of  that 
name.  Just  now  Mehitabers  temper,  never  of 
the  best,  was  made  worse  by  the  fact  that  she 
was  very  damp,  and  as  cheerful  Pepper  had 
waggishly  thrown  out  dark  hints  about  a  fowl 
of  her  age  being  subject  to  rheumatism,  the 
boys  were  much  worried  about  her. 

"It's  c-cold,  sort  of,"  Billy  continued  with 
a  shiver,  ''Don't  you  think  so,  Reggie?" 

Reginald  Bolton,  one  of  the  Sea  Gulls,  wrig- 
gled his  slim  body  under  his  one  blanket  and 

chuckled.  . 

"You  ain't  got  a  soul  to  thank  for  our  bemg 
out  here  on  Sago,  but  your  own  chubby  self, 
Billy-Billy,"  he  said  promptly.  "Why  couldn  t 
we  three  kids  and  poor  old  Mehitabel,  be  back 
at  Camp  Ross  with  the  other  fellows,  YO^^^f^ 
and  I,  'stead  of  playing  'ducky-daddle-puddle- 
pond'  out  here  in  these  squashy  lowlands? 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  Billy  flung  back,  much 
aeerieved,  "I  certainly  do  like  that  Reggie 
Bolton !  Weren't  you  the  first  one  of  the  troop 
to  volunteer  to  stay  up  here  on  Sago  with  Dr 
Neems  and  Pepper  Sloan  to  be  ready  to  meet 
the  U  S  Marines  under  Colonel  Kemp  if  they 


222  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

should  by  any  chance  get  here  before  to-mor- 
row?   Weren't  you,  Reggie?    Weren't  you?" 

"Sure  I  was,"  a  bit  sheepishly  from  Reggie, 
"But  I  never  thought  Dr.  Neems  would  call 
my  bluff,  and,  anyway,  old  Wardy  would  have 
wanted  some  of  his  Sea  Gulls  to  be  on  hand 
for  a  big  time  like  the  coming  of  two  com- 
panies of  Marines,  even  if  most  of  them  are 
Rookies.  And  then  Billy,"  quite  plaintively, 
"it  would  have  been  nice  and  jolly  in  this  little 
old  tent,  if  Mehitabel  and  me  had  had  it  to 
ourselves,  without  you  and  Van  butting  in. 
Honest,  it's  too  little  for  the  four  of  us." 

"Huh !"  Billy  grunted,  as  the  aged  bird,  with 
a  troubled  croke,  bit  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear 
peevishly.  "The  armory  in  Charleston  wouldn't 
be  big  enough  for  old  Mehitabel  when  she  gets 
a  grouch  on  like  now." 

From  the  furthest  corner  came  the  voice  of 
Van  Lear,  drowsily  begging  the  other  boys  to 
"shut  up."    Then  he  went  fast  to  sleep  again. 

All  three  scouts  were  on  a  good-sized  pallet 
made  of  pine  boughs,  a  very  nice  bed  when 
cut  dry,  but  a  most  cheerless  affair  when,  as 
now,  it  is  damp.  Each  boy  had  a  blanket  and, 
minus  shoes  and  stockings  and  coats,  but  other- 
wise dressed,  they  had  curled  up  close  together 
with  their  arms  around  one  another  to  get 
warm,  like  small  bear  cubs.  Van  and  Reggie 
got  along  famously,  but  Billy,  being  nearest 
the  tent  flap,  got  a  certain  amount  of  rain  on 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  223 

him,  and  besides  that,  being  a  roly-poly  scout, 
you  know,  he  needed  more  blanket  than  the 
other  two;  but,  sad  to  say,  he  got  less,  for  the 
sHm  Reggie,  who  was  in  the  middle,  was  not 
content  to  cuddle  warmly  against  Van's  body, 
on  one  side  and  Billy's  on  the  other,  but  suc- 
ceeded by  certain  masterly  maneuvers,  to  pull 
the  irate  Billy's  blanket  from  off  him  and 
snuggle  dow^n  beneath  it  with  a  gentle  sigh 
that  produced  horrid  desires  for  murder  on  the 
part  of  the  shivering  Assistant  Patrol  Leader 
of  the  Sea  Gulls.  It  was  as  a  very  last  resort, 
therefore,  that  he  had  unloosed  Reggie's  right 
arm  from  about  his  neck  and  had  squatted 
dowm  sullenly  at  the  side  of  the  pallet,  his 
scout  coat  slung  over  his  shoulders,  Mehitabel 
nipping  viciously  at  his  bare  feet  every  now 
and  then. 

From  the  next  tent,  close  at  hand,  came 
men's  voices. 

"Pepper,  my  dear  soul,"  in  the  jocose  tones 
of  Surgeon  Jimmy  Neems,  "Arise!  Reveille 
toi,  belle  endormie!  A  lizard,  at  least  I  think 
it  is  a  lizard,  is  playing  tag  up  and  down  my 
official  spine.    I  wish  it  removed,  Pepper." 

"Not  so  you'd  know  it,  old  son,"  in  cheerful 
response  from  the  youngest  officer.  "I've 
troubles  of  my  own,  thank  you.  Something 
damp  and  feathery  fell  right  on  my  stomach 
just  now,  and  I  rather  fancy  it  is  our  pet,  the 
chaste  Mehitabel,  from  next  door.     It  hurts." 


224  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

"Did  it  have  claws,  Pepper?"  from  Dr. 
Neem. 

"Yes,  it  did.    Sort  of  scaley  ones.'' 

Dr.  Neems  chuckled. 

"Poor  Pepper!  Poor  tummy!  Poor  scaley 
claws!  Poor  Mehitabel,  dear,  dear  old  soul!" 
he  soliloquized,  then  quite  peevishly,  "Drat 
that  lizard!" 

"Oh,  by  all  means!"  in  happy  accents  from 
Pepper.  "Say,  Dr.  Neems,  I  think  Sago  is 
rising  from  its  banks.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  lark 
if  we  woke  up  and  found  ourselves  doing  a 
Mary-go-and-call-the-cattle-home  stunt,  float- 
ing a-down  Bull  creek  en  route  for  the  good 
river  Edisto?  Tell  Spot-to  I  died  bravely,  with 
a  prayer  of  forgiveness  for  Mehitabel  on  my 
lips." 

"Ha!  ha!"  with  gusto  from  the  bald-headed 
Jimmy  Neems,  "Spot-to,  your  granny!  Who 
would  break  the  news  to  those  nearer  and  dear- 
er, down  Dolittle  way,  my  Elf?" 

"Who  do  you  mean.  Dr.  Neems?"  Pepper 
demanded  huskily,  a  deep  pink  sweeping  over 
his  freckled  face. 

"Names  never  mentioned,  my  dear  boy," 
the  playful  Neems  grinned  with  relish,  "but 
what  are  the  initials  for  Royal  Navy,  eh. 
Pepper?" 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  but  glaring 
through  the  darkness,  he  brutally  muttered 
the  one  word  "Evelyn",  and  Dr.  Neems  winced. 


THE  LONE  SCOUT  225 

Pepper  at  once  felt  comforted,  hugging  his 
bare  arms  close  to  the  hard  muscles  of  his  ath- 
letic body  joyfully. 

"Say,  Doctor,"  he  asked  pleasantly,  "were 
you  ever  more  uncomfortable  than  this?" 

"Only  once,  at  Fort  San  Lorenzo,  on  the 
Isthmus,"  Jimmy  Neems  replied,  "when  Frank 
HoUis  dropped  the  evaporated  cream  can  over 
the  side  of  our  dug-out  cajuca,  and  we  watched 
it  as  it  sank  in  the  waters  of  the  Chagres.  ^  It 
was  our  last  can,  you  know.  It  was  raining 
just  about  as  it  is  now.  Wonder  how  those 
boys  next  door  are  faring?" 

"Don't  know,"  from  Pepper,  then  quite  hap- 
pily, "They  must  be  as  wretched  as  we,  don't 
you  think?" 

"More  so,  if  anything,"  very  graciously 
from  Dr.  Neems.  "Just  listen  to  them,  will 
you!  Our  gentle-hearted  Billy  scout  is  mad 
all  over.  Since  she  seems  to  have  quit  us,  prob- 
ably Mehitabel  is  misbehaving." 

"Say,"  very  indignantly  from  Billy  Hoover, 
"I  stuck  my  arm  out  just  now  and  Mehitabel 
bit  me.  Drew  blood,  too.  If  she  comes  inside 
I'm  going  to  leave  her  with  you  and  Van  and 
go  for  a  hike.  The  clouds  are  beginning  to 
break,  and  I  can  see  the  big,  old,  round  moon. 
It's  as  red  as  copper.    Gee,  it's  pretty!" 

Mehitabel    insisted    on    entering   the   boys 
tent,  so,  true  to  his  decision,  Billy  rose  with  a 
grunt,  and  strode  out. 


226  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

The  great  masses  of  storm  clouds  were  scud- 
ding swiftly  before  a  strong  wind  and  much  of 
the  sky  was  now  open.  The  moon,  full  and 
round,  was  just  peeping  over  the  tops  of  the 
pines,  sending  long,  ghostly  shadows  every- 
where, and  smiling  on  the  wet  scout  as  it  elon- 
gated his  shadow  at  great  lenth. 

"Gee,"  he  grinned,  "If  I  was  as  nice  and 
skinny  as  that  Fd  be  tickled  silly.  Well,  Fm 
not  as  fat  as  Coonie  Black,  anyhow.  Wonder 
how  a  sentry  feels  on  a  wet  night  like  this? 
Think  I'll  walk  up  and  down  and  play  I'm  one, 
over  in  France." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  a  bit  of  clearing  crossing 
and  recrossing  a  bridle  path.  By  the  time  the 
boy  had  marched  back  and  forth  a  dozen  or 
so  times,  his  body  held  very  straight,  he  began 
to  feel  as  solemn  as  if  the  entire  fate  of  Verdun 
rested  on  his  young  shoulders,  and,  filled  with 
Buster's  many  tales  of  the  trenches,  he  became 
so  warm  with  bellicose  emotions  that  he 
doubled  up  his  tough  fists  and  growled  out  an 
"A  bas,  les  Prussiens,"  at  regular  intervals, 
quite  like  the  most  ferocious  *poilu'.  More 
gradually  his  small  heart  was  obsessed  with 
the  idea  that  to  his  faithful  keeping  was  en- 
trusted the  entire  French  Republic,  and  he  be- 
gan not  only  to  march  but  to  watch  carefully 
every  moon  distorted  object  that  confronted 
his  wide  open  eyes,  humming  softly  under  his 


THE    LONE    SCCUT  227 

breath:  "  *Allons  enfants  de  la  Patrie'  "  very 
much  in  dead  earnest.  Big,  husky  fourteen- 
year-old  though  he  was,  he  was  still  very  good 
at  "let's  play,''  was  Billy.  The  gnarled  roots 
of  a  lonely  live  oak  became  the  blood  smeared 
bodies  of  French  Currassiers,  the  low  droop- 
ing Spanish  moss,  the  beards  of  faithful  Rus- 
sian Cossacks,  the  tall  symmetry  of  the  pines 
the  advancing  of  a  Uhlan  host,  menacing  and 
terrible,  knives  in  teeth,  sabres  pointed,  one 
and  all,  at  his  deep,  quickly  heaving  breast. 
Gently  the  golden  fluff  of  his  crisp  hair  began 
to  bristle  even  more  briskly  than  usual,  and 
his  lips  parted  to  admit  his  short,  panting 
breaths.  So  many  dead  French  boys  all  around 
him !  So  hopelessly  tired,  those  staunch,  griz- 
zled Cossacks!  And  all,  all  depending  solely 
on  one  Boy  Scout  to  give  the  word  of  warning, 
and  fire  the  shot  of  alarm  from  the  muzzle  of 
the  hickory  gun  that  rested  so  purposefully  on 
his  shoulder. 

An  owl  hooted  dismally,  and  Billy  shaking 
a  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  muttered 
grimly  that  von  Hindenburg's  voice  was  at 
last  heard. 

A  cold,  velvety  soft  muzzle  was  suddenly 
snuggled  against  his  smooth,  pink  cheek  and 
this  sturdy  defender  of  France  felt  his  heart 
tumbling  over  and  over  against  his  ribs.  One 
thought,  dreadful,  shaming  and  self  accusatory 
flashed  through  his  mind — the  Uhlans  had  out- 


228  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

flanked  him  and  had  come  up  from  behind. 
Then,  coming  down  to  earth,  he  recognized 
Wardy's  Beauty  Horse,  with  empty  saddle,  her 
gentle  eyes  gazing  at  him  quietly,  and  the  boy 
grinned  very  sheepishly  as  he  patted  her  nose, 
the  idea  entering  his  head  at  once  that  Wardy 
must  have  ridden  back  to  camp  and  not  have 
fastened  her  securely.  Then  a  brilliant  idea 
came  to  him. 

"Beauty  Horse,''  he  whispered  in  her  ear  as 
he  kissed  her  soft  muzzle  lovingly,  "You  liked 
to  scared  me  to  death,  honest  you  did.  Now 
you're  here,  though,  I'm  going  to  use  you  for 
a  mount.  We'll  play  I'm  a  Currassier,  Beauty, 
and  you're  my  faithful  horse,  who'll  follow  me 
on  the  battle  field,  and — and  kiss  my  c-cold 
face  w-with  your  m-muzzle  when  I'm  all  stiff 
and  bleeding  and  dead.  I  ought  to  be  bloody 
now.  Oh,  I  know  what!"  and  he  pressed  the 
small  wounds  left  from  his  encounter  with  the 
irate  Mehitabel  and  wiped  the  blood  off  on 
his  soft  cheek,  feeling  most  glorious,  and  sad, 
too — it  was  all  for  France — death,  blood, 
wounds  and  all. 

Climbing  to  the  saddle,  the  boy  folded  his 
arms  and  became  again  silent  and  watchful,  a 
round,  stalwart  young  figure  in  his  wet  cam- 
paign shirt  and  scout  hat,  his  khaki  clad  legs 
hugging  the  saddle  closely,  his  body  hunched 
forward.  A  tiny  crackle,  and  he  jumped.  A 
whip-o'will's  call,  and  he  shivered.    The  Prus- 


THE    LONE    SCOUT  229 

sian  lines,  strange  to  say,  seemed  no  nearer. 
He  tried  to  remember  Napoleon's  address  to 
his  army,  translated  with  much  despair  at 
school  a  year  before,  but  could  get  no  further 
than  the  initial  "Soldats!"  so  he  gave  it  up  at 
last  and,  wheeling  on  the  faithful  Russian 
hosts,  rose  up  in  his  stirrups  and  hurled  the 
major  portion  of  Lincoln's  Gettysburg  address 
at  them,  no  doubt  greatly  edifying  those  silent 
gray-beards. 

But  they  were  coming  nearer,  those  German 
Uhlans!  Billy,  his  eyes  big  and  wide,  his 
smooth  jaws  set,  his  whole  body  and  soul  un- 
der the  witchery  of  his  boy's  imagination  and 
the  elfin  spell  of  the  copper  moon  above  him, 
with  the  great  masses  of  storm  clouds  piled 
high  on  the  horizon,  rose  again  in  his  stirrups, 
waved  his  sabre  (a  moment  ago  the  trusty 
gun)  and  charged  down  the  path  toward  those 
oncoming  hordes,  frightened,  but  most  won- 
derfully exhalted,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his 
young  voice  Buster's  French  phrases,  so  dear 
to  the  hearts  of  all  the  Camp  Ross  scouts. 
Galloping  like  a  golden-headed  whirlwind, 
lifting  himself  higher  and  higher  in  his  stir- 
rups, his  wooden  sword  swinging  high  above 
his  crisp,  bristling  hair,  his  head  thrown  back, 
the  sweat  streaking  his  pink  and  white  face 
as  he  called  his  defiance,  his  voice  young  and 
high  and  very  boyish. 


230  THE    LONE    SCOUT 

*'Chargez  vous,  mes  enfants!  Mes  soldats! 
A  bas,  les  Prussiens!''  and  horse  and  rider 
dashed  up  the  bridle  path  in  a  silver  highway 
of  moonlight,  and  straight  into  the  arms  of 
two  companies  of  much  astounded  Marines. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"No  more  surveying  with  an  eye  impartial 

The  long  line  of  the  coast, 
Shall  the  gaunt  figure  of  our  old  Field  Marshall 

Be  seen  along  his  post." 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW. 


"So  lay  aside  the  blue  and  gilt, 

The  Full  Dress  of  gold  tissued  toys; 

Hand  on  the  shovel,  from  the  hilt 
Of  sword,  for  busy  Service  boys. 

Good-bye,  my  camp ;  Good-night,  Good-bye ! 

Grassy  choked  river,  swamp  and  fenn — 
Work  always  waits.  Scouts — God's  on  high 

To  love  His  boys,  turned  Service  men." 

From  "the  saga  of  an  unsung  service. 


» 


THE  CALL 

''Strike  tents!" 

Out  rang  the  clear  cut  order  from  Pepper 
Sloan,  four  days  after  Billy's  adventure  v^ith 
the  in-coming  Marines,  and,  a  second  later,  in 
Navy  style,  came  back  the  answer  in  the  boy- 
ish voices  of  the  three  Patrol  Leaders,  Wardy, 
Coonie  and  the  Gopher,  "Strike  tents,  sir!" 

231 


232  THE  LONE   SCOUT 

Rolls  of  smoothly  packed  duffle  stood  about 
in  the  early  morning  sunshine,  its  sparkle  no 
brighter  than  the  twenty-four  pair  of  young 
eyes  that  danced  with  excitement  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  trip  to  Charleston  and  the  Great  Al- 
lied Bazaar.  The  troop  was  to  hike  over  to 
Dolittle  in  the  morning,  and  take  the  train 
from  there  to  Charleston. 

After  striking  the  tents,  they  were  packed 
away  carefully  in  Cookie's  cabin,  along  with 
the  folding  cots  and  all  kit,  except  what  was 
needed  in  the  rolls  of  duffle.  Then  came  an- 
other order  from  Pepper: 

"Scoot  for  a  bath,  Scouts!" 

"Scoot  for  a  bath,  sir!"  from  the  grinning 
Patrol  Leaders  as  the  whole  troop  scampered 
for  the  swimming  hole,  stripping  as  they  ran, 
their  young  Scout  Master  reaching  the  spot 
first  and  diving  into  the  water  in  a  curved,  glis- 
tening flash  of  white,  and,  his  red  head  com- 
ing to  the  surface,  he  struck  out  for  the  oppo- 
site shore,  yelling  a  cheerful  good  morning  to 
a  Naval  Assistant  Surgeon  and  three  Marine 
officers  who  were  sitting  on  a  log,  pulling  on 
their  clothes. 

"Beat  us  to  it,  eh?"  Pepper  laughed  up  at 
them,  shaking  the  water  from  his  eyes. 

"Right  on  the  job  before  anybody  else. 
That's  the  Navy  way,  you  know !"  the  young- 
est of  the  Marine  officers  swaggered. 

"Oh,  sure !"  from  Pepper  as  he  promptly  dis- 


THE  LONE   SCOUT  233 

appeared  under  the  water  again,  to  hide  the 
grin  on  his  mouth. 

"What  did  that  guy  say,  Billy?"  came  the 
indignant  voice  of  Wardy  Brown,  as  he  swam 
over  to  the  other  scout. 

"That  it  was  the  Navy  way  to  be  always  be- 
fore anybody  else,  or  something  like  that," 
Billy  grunted. 

"Well,  I  Hke  that !  Guess  the  Navy  wouldn't 
be  here  now  if  our  Service  hadn't  cleaned  up 
their  old  camp  site  so  they  wouldn't  all  die 
with  malaria.  Bet  you  there  isn't  a  one  of 
those  Marines  that  would  know  an  Anopheles 
stands  on  her  head  when  she  bites  and  waves 
her  hind  legs  in  the  air.  And  as  to  Quads  and 
Puncs  and  Crucians,  with  their  four  or  five 
spots,  or  yellow  bites  out  of  their  wings,  or 
the  three  little  spots  on  sixth  vein  of  their 
wings,  why,  I  bet  you  hats  those  men  never 
even  heard  of  such  things,  'cept  the  Navy  doc- 
tor, of  course." 

"Aw,  hold  your  horses,  Wardy,"  Billy  grin- 
ned, as  he  stretched  out  the  muscles  under  his 
satiny  skin  and  floated  peacefully  on  his  back, 
"Pepper  took  it  all  as  a  joke,  and  that's  just 
what  it  is.  We  Service  boys  work  for  the 
work's  sake — the  Chief  says  so,  and  we  know 
our  sanitation  was  a  dandy  job,  thanks  to  you, 
old  scout,  and  that's  all  we  care  for." 

"That's  the  Service  spirit  right  enough,  old 
son,"  from  the  scout  master  as  he  swam  up. 


234  THE   LONE   SCOUT 

"Time  to  go  back  to  camp  now.     Fall  out  to 
put  on  some  clothes !" 

"Fall  out  to  put  on  some  clothes,  sir!"  from 
the  laughing  Patrol  leaders,  and  the  other 
scouts  along  with  them  scrambled  to  the  bank 
and  slipped  wet,  glistening  small  bodies  into 
underclothing,  stockings,  shoes  and  pants, 
slipping  their  campaign  shirts  over  their  heads 
as  they  darted  up  the  narrow  path  for  Camp 
Ross  and  a  hasty  breakfast. 

Waiting  for  them,  seated  on  a  fallen  log, 
was  Miss  Penrod,  and  the  boys  promptly  sa- 
luted her  scout  fashion. 

"I  am  going  to  hike  over  to  Dolittle  with 
you,  cousins  all,"  the  nurse  cried  gayly,  "and 
so  are  the  Chief  and  Buster." 

"Bully  for  you,  Anne,"  young  Pepper  smiled 
gratefully.  "That's  first  rate.  Since  Buster 
is  going  away  with  the  Chief  to  establish  sani- 
tary training  camps  in  Louisiana,  I — Pll  need 
an  Assistant  Scout  Master  dreadfully,  and — 
and" 

"Cheer  up.  Pepper!"  Miss  Penrod  dimpled. 
"I  rather  expect  to  be  a  full  Scout  Master  my- 
self for  the  next  two  weeks  at  the  Bazaar, 
thank  you.  After  that  you  may  once  more  be 
supreme,  while  I  sail  away  over  the  ocean  for 
my  poor,  suffering  Neuilly  and  France." 

"Oh,  Anne,"  the  young  fellow  cried,  moist- 
ening his  dry  lips  miserably,  his  face  rather 


THE  LONE   SCOUT  235 

white  under  his  freckled  skin,  "I — I — oh,  do 
you  have  to  go  back?'' 

Miss  Penrod's  eyes  were  quite  starry  as  she 
looked  up  from  her  log  at  the  earnest,  set 
young  face  above  her. 

"Yes,  I  have  to  go  back  and  help,  dear  Pep- 
per," she  said  and  then,  with  a  queer  little 
laugh,  "But  if  you  are  good  and  patient  with 
these  youngsters,  in  a  year  or  two,  well,  maybe 
I'll  apply  for  a  permanent  commission  as  As- 
sistant Scout  Master  to  Pepper's  Boy  Scouts, 
wherever  they  may  be." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Chief  joined  them, 
accompanied  by  Buster,  a  small  package  in  his 
hand,  and  after  a  few  words  with  Pepper,  he 
spoke  to  Wardy,  who  called  the  scouts  to- 
gether and  had  them  stand  at  attention,  his 
round  face  quite  radiant. 

"Boys,"  the  gray  headed  Chief  said  steadily, 
smiling  down  on  them  lovingly,  "as  head  of 
your  local  troop  committee  I  have  several 
awards  to  give.  In  the  first  place  I  have  asked 
your  scout  master,  as  a  favor,  to  let  me  pin 
these  merit  badges  for  PubHc  Health  on  each 
of  you.  Since  you  have  all  just  passed  your 
examinations  from  Tenderfoot  grade  to  that 
of  second  class  scouts  you  can  use  them. 
Everyone  of  you  has  earned  his  badge.  Then 
I  have  also  a  badge  in  First  Aid  for  Wardy, 
and  for  Billy;  and  the  rank  of  a  Life  Scout  for 
Billy,  as  he  has  won  his  five  necessary  merit 


236  THE  LONE   SCOUT 

badges,  with  some  to  spare — First  Aid,  Phys- 
ical Development,  Personal  Health,  Public 
Health,  Life  Saving,  Cooking,  Music,  and 
Swimming.  Frankly,  the  last  two  he  won, 
those  at  our  good  Camp  Ross,  seem  to  me  the 
biggest.  Also,  he  won  the  affection  and  re- 
spect of  his  old  Chief,  for  whatever  that  may 
be  worth  to  him,  and  the  praise  of  his  Surgeon 
General,  sent  him  in  this  personal  letter  from 
Washington." 

Billy  Hoover,  pink  and  very  erect,  and  so 
proud  and  happy  that  he  could  not  at  first 
speak,  stepped  shyly  forward  and  stood  at  at- 
tention before  his  Chief,  looking  up  into  his 
lean,  clever  face  with  grateful,  rather  misty 
eyes,  full  of  the  straightforward  love  of  a 
young  boy  for  a  great,  world-famous  man. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  simply,  giving  the 
scout  salute.  "Thank  you  and  the  Surgeon 
General  and  the  National  Commissioners,  and 
— and  all  of  you  fellows,"  wheeling  round  on 
his  brother  scouts,  "I — I  never  knew  what 
good  stuff  Boy  Scouts  were  made  of  till  all  of 
us  worked  and  played  here  together  at  Camp 
Ross.  Oh,  gee,  fellows!  hasn't  our  Service 
been  good  to  us? —  the  Chief,  and  our  old  scout 
master.  Pepper,  and  Buster,  and— and  every- 
body, staff  officers,  sanitary  engineers  and  all? 
I'm  the  only  one  of  the  troop  that  won't  come 
back,  except  Buster,  and,  oh,  fellows,  I'll  miss 
you  all  like  anything,  only,  well— I've  got  to 


THE   LONE   SCOUT  237 

pitch  right  in  on  my  Bull  Dogs  as  soon  as  I 
get  back  to  Charleston  and  the  Bazaar  work  is 
finished,  and  teach  them  same  as  the  Chiefs 
taught  us,  to  be  real  Service  boys,"  then,  his 
voice  rather  husky,  "It*s  so  tough,  breaking  up 
hke  this,  but — but  I  guess  that's  part  of  our 
Service  too." 

Happy,  purposeful  scouts  swung  along  the 
dusty  road  toward  Dolittle  an  hour  later,  with 
old  Dr.  Iron,  Jimmy  Neems,  Lake  White  and 
a  few  others  waving  them  a  friendly  good-bye. 
Mr.  HoUis  was  already  in  New  Orleans  pav- 
ing the  way  for  the  coming  of  his  great  Chief. 

"Sing,  sing,  you  scouts!"  Miss  Penrod  called 
to  the  little  army  of  olive  drab  figures.  "Strike 
up,  Billy-Billy!"  and  with  Bill3^'s  velvety 
smooth  contralto  leading,  the  fresh  young 
voices  of  the  boys  rang  out  clearly,  Buster,  the 
Assistant  Surgeon  General,  and  Pepper,  add- 
ing a  deep  throated  chorus,  the  youngest  of- 
ficer smiling  a  little  piteously  at  the  nurse,  who 
returned  the  smile  bravely. 

"There  the  wild  flowers  spring, 
And  the  wee  throstles  sing, 

And  in  sunshine  the  waters  are  sleepin*. 
But  the  broken  hairt  it  kens  nae  second  spring, 

Though  resigned  it  may  be,  while  we're  greetin'  " 

So  sang  the  Black  Watch  moving  over  the 
miles  of  dusty  road  in  France,  marching  on  to 


238  THE  LONE   SCOUT 

death,  and  so  sang  the  scouts,  moving  on  from 
their  first  great  victory.  They  were  near  the 
Marine  camp  now,  swinging  along  at  a  sturdy 
pace,  their  voices  as  fresh  as  the  September 
morning  itself. 

"Then  ye'll  tak  the  high  road  and  I'll  tak  the  low  road, 

An'  I'll  be  in  Scotland  before  ye. 
But  sorrow  it  is  there,  an'  mony  hairts  are  sair, 

On  the  bonny,  bonny  banks  o'  Loch  Lomond." 

"We  are  together,  Buster,"  the  Assistant 
Surgeon  General  said  at  the  end  of  the  song, 
"so  try  not  to  be  unhappy." 

"Fm  not  unhappy.  Dad,"  the  boy  answered, 
his  handsome  head  thrown  back  bravely 
enough.  "It's  always  good-bye  in  our  Service, 
only  for  you  and  me.  WeVe  always  more 
work  to  do  somewhere  further  on.  It's  so  good 
to  be  with  you,  my  father." 

The  Assistant  Surgeon  General  laid  one 
hand  quietly  on  his  boy's  shoulder  and  they 
walked  along  together,  watching  the  two  Pa- 
trol Leaders  of  the  Sea  Gulls,  who,  side  by 
side,  were  moving  in  the  same  attitude  as  the 
father  and  son,  Billy's  left  hand  on  Wardy's 
shoulder,  for  the  tow  headed  boy  stumbled  a 
little  now  and  then,  his  scout  hat  pulled  down 
over  his  blue  eyes. 

"Oh,  Billy,"  he  said  quickly,  "I — I  wish  you 
were  coming  back." 


THE   LONE   SCOUT  239 

"But  we'll  be  just  as  good  chums,  Wardy," 
Billy  answered  comfortingly,  "and — our  Ser- 
vice is  always  saying  good-bye,  to  go  off  into 
strange  places  and  find  work  for  other  folks, 
old  scout.    Say,  got  your  clown's  suit?" 

"Sure,  it's  in  Miss  Penrod's  duffle,  and  I  bet 
I  w^ear  the  littlest  hat  at  the  great  Allied  Ba- 
zaar. You  just  see  if  I  don't.  Gee,  Billy-Billy 
won't  it  be  great  when  the  Senator  opens  that 
school  over  at  the  Folly  Quarters  on  the 
twenty-sixth,  for  all  the  boys  down  here. 
Gopher  and  Coonie  and  Reggie  and  Ed  and  all 
the  rest  of  us.  Van  is  going  to  stay  too,  and 
we'll  keep  my  old  Folly  Quarters  looking  just 
lovely,  Billy,  so  you  can  have  fun  here  again 
with  us  next  summer.  You'll  come  again, 
won't  you  old  scout?" 

"You  bet  I  will!  I've  saved  over  a  hunderd 
and  twenty  dollars  from  my  three  months' 
salary,  and  mother  can  have  it  all,  but  I'll  earn 
some  more  before  next  summer  all  right.  May- 
be Buster  and  the  Chief  can  come  down,  too. 
Lots  of  the  old  crowd  for  the  old  life  at  Camp 
Ross  again!" 

"Cheer  up,  you  scouts!"  called  Pepper, 
squaring  his  shoulders  after  a  whispered  word 
of  comfort  from  the  trained  nurse  and  a  warn- 
ing not  to  neglect  his  boys,  who  seemed  a  little 
solemn  as  they  got  further  and  further  away 
from  their  camp,  now  and  then  looking  back 
rather  sadly  at  the  slim,  erect  figure  of  their 


240  THE  LONE   SCOUT 

khaki-clad  Chief,  so  soon  to  leave  them. 
"Cheer  up,  you  Boy  Scouts!  Remember  Bus- 
ter's camp  talk,  old  sons.  Now,  one — two — 
three — all  together:  "Are  we  downhearted?" 
And  in  a  firm,  cheerful  roar  from  twenty- 
four  bare,  sun-browned  young  throats  "NO!" 
and  they  swung  along  again  briskly,  shoulders 
squared,  Billy  and  Wardy  still  together,  but 
feeling  only  happy  now,  while  from  the  near- 
by camp  on  Sago  there  rang  out  suddenly, 
clear  and  sweet,  the  sound  of  a  Marine  Corps 
bugle,  the  sign  so  longed  for,  by  all  of  them 
from  the  Chief  to  the  youngest  Scout,  the  sign 
of  work  well  done  by  the  Service  boys  of 
Camp  Ross. 


THE  END 


DATE  DUE 

, 

Demco,  Inc.  38-293 


1?^  11,8 /i      o^ 


